INSTITUTION 


FOK    THE 


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Gift  of:  „     . 

H.   C.   School  for  trie  Deaf 

Duolicate 

T-'/fs  ^  'fTj/sf/cs 


1 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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■-♦:•■' 


New  Books. 


A.  FOOL'S  EHRAND.      By   One   of  the   Fools. 

The  true  and  startling  adventures  of  a  Northern  Settler  in  a 
Southern  State  since  the  'Mate  unpleasantness."     Cloth,  $i. 

TSE    MEItRT-GO-ItOUy:D :     Stories   fcr   Boys    and    Girls. 
By  Ros  Raymond.     Small  4:0.     Illustrated. 

FIGS    AXD    TSISTLES:    A    Western    Story.    By    Albion 

W.  TOURGEE.     Cloth,  $1. 

TOINETTE:  A  Tale   of  the   South.     Bv   Albion   W.  Tol-rgee. 
New  Edition.     Cloth,  §1, 

Fords,  Howard,  er=  Hulbert, 

27  Park  Place,  New  York. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  luill  he  mailed.  posUpaid.  on  receipt 
0/  price. 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES: 

A     WESTERN   STORY, 

BY 

ALBION  W.   TOURGEE, 

Author  of  ''Toinette:    A    Tale  of  the   South:* 


"  As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart 

— so  is  he." 

Proverbs. 


NEW   YORK: 
FORDS,  HOWARD,  6-  HULBERT. 


COPYRIGHT,     1S79, 
Y     ALBION     W.      TOURGEE: 


Zlectrotyped  tj  I  orejor.  Son  i  Co.,  N.T. 


PROLOGUE 


IT  has,  of  late,  been  much  commended  to  writers  of 
fiction  that  they  should  preface  their  works  with 
a  list  of  the  characters  therein  portrayed,  together  with 
an  analysis  of  the  contents,  for  the  convenience  of  the 
critic  and  the  enlightenment  of  the  reader.  In  accord- 
ance with  this  suggestion,  the  writer  submits  the 
following 

Syllabus  Personarum. 

I — Jacob  Churr  :  An  amiable  bachelor,  who  improvi- 
dently  marries  for  love,  lives  in  a  dream,  and, 
dying,  leaves  a  son  to  poverty  and  a  grand- 
father.    One  of  the  "figs." 

2 — Burrill  Andrus  :  A  deacon  of  the  church  in 
Greenfield,  on  the  Pymatuning;  the  father 
of  Hetty  (wife  of  Jacob  Churr)  and  the 
grandfather  of  Markham  Churr,  the  hero.  A 
well-to-do  farmer  of  a  thrifty  habit.  Some- 
thing of  a  "thistle." 

3 — Markham  Churr:  Son  of  Jacob  Churr  and  prettv 
Hetty  Andrus;  a  poor  man's  orphan,  blest 
with  friends  and  difficulties;  a  young  attor- 
ney ;  an  improvised  soldier ;  a  statesman  by 
the  vox  popiili ;  and  the  one  whose  life  and 
adventures  are  more  particularly  narrated. 
A  fig-bearing  "thistle." 

603278  ' 


ii  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

4 — \azz\y.  Karper  :  Daughter  of  Jeduthon  Harper  of 
Fairbank,  the  betrothed,  and  afterward  wife, 
of  Markham  Churr.  A  character  which  the 
author  has  vainly  endeavored  to  keep  in  the 
background. 

5 — Curtis  Field  :  A  laborer  in  the  employ  of  Deacon 
Andrus;  afterwards  a  farmer  and  man  of  in- 
fluence on  the  Pymatuning,  and  at  all  times  a 
fast  friend  of  Jvlarkham.     A  "fig." 

6 — BOAZ  WooDLEY  :  Attorney-at-law ;  Colonel  and  Chief 
of  Military  Railway  Transportation ;  Presi- 
dent of  the  Bank  of  Aychitula,  and  of  the  T. 
C.  Railway  Co. ;  the  friend,  patron,  and  foe  of 
Markham  Churr.     One  of  the  "thistles." 

7 — Thomas  Hortox  :  Cashier  of  the  Bank  of  Aychi- 
tula;  servant  and  friend  of  Boaz  Woodley. 

8 — Frank  Hortox  :    Son    of   Thomas  Horton ;    who 

has  many  adventures  which  are   not  related 

herein.     Another  "thistle." 

9 — Amy  Levis  :  Daughter  of  Anson  Fevis,  blacksmith  of 

the  village  of  Aychitula.     A  pretty  "fig." 

lo — Rev.  F.  Worthixgtox  :    A   minister,  whose   early 

life  is  somewhat  obscure.     A  "fig." 
II — Basil  Woodsox  :  A   clerk,   whose   latter   days    are 
somewhat  clouded.     Decidedly  a  "thistle." 

12 — Albert    Morey  :     Manufacturer,    of    Rexville.     A 

rough  nugget. 
13 — The  Dominie:   Pastor  of  the  church  in  Lanesville  ; 

a  genuine  "Christian." 
14 — Friend  Peter  Wrenx  :  A  Quaker  who  has  notions, 

and  lends  money — on  good  security. 
15 — La\vyer    Latham:    One   who   deserved    far   more 

than  he  ever  received. 


PKOLOCUE. 


Ill 


i6 — A  Merchant  Tailor  :  Who  comes  into  the  story 
by  chance,  and  stays  but  a  moment,  but  is, 
nevertheless,  of  some  importance. 

17 — Two  Detectives:  Who  find  a  clue  which  they  do 
not  follow. 

t8 — Ransom  Fisk  :  Who  is  mentioned  here  because  he 
was  quite  forgotten  in  the  story. 

19 — Enoch  Hatch  :  Who  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
tale,  but  is  important  to  the  conclusion. 

20 — CoRDiE  Hatch:  A  sweet-faced,  dimly- seen  umbra^ 
charged  with  a  golden  errand. 

21 — Dr.  Merrill:  Surgeon,  enthusiast,  politician,  and 
friend  of  Markham.     A  singed  cat. 

22 — Tige:  a  dog  of  no  particular  breed,  but  of  pro- 
nounced character  and  peculiar  attributes. 

23 — Miscellanea  :  A  bank  porter,  a  college  president,  a 
probate  judge,  citizens,  soldiers,  and  a  span  of 
bay  trotters,  who  are  quite  as  worthy  of  men- 
tion as  some  other  characters. 

Tempus. 

From  the  year  of  Grace,  One  Thousand  Eight 
Hundred  and  Fift}',  this  story  continueth  until  the 
year  of  our  Lord  One  Thousand  Eight  Hundred  and 
Seventy-two,  or  thereabouts;  with  some  episodes  whicli 
extend  back  of  the  former  date  and  some  speculations 
which  follow  the  latter. 

Loci. 

Greenfield,  on  the  Pymatuning;  Aychitula  and 
Rexville,  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Erie;  and  Lanesville, 
which    is   the   county-seat    of   Beaver  County,    are    the 


IV 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


points  in  which  the  action  chiefly  proceeds,  being  all 
in  said  count},  which  is  a  part  of  the  ;^th  Congres- 
sional District,  and  a  portion  of  the  "Western  Reserve," 
once  known  as  the  New  Connecticut,  in  the  State  of 
Ohio.  The  action  extends  also  to  Washington,  Pliila- 
delphia,  New  York,  and  embraces  one  city  not  laid 
down  upon  the  map,  together  with  some  others  which 
may  be  difficult  to  find. 

ACTIOXES. 

A  queer  fight,  a  sudden  flight,  a  long  interval, 
some  love,  a  great  larceny,  two  marches,  two  battles, 
several  journeys,  two  caucuses,  some  skeleton  sermons, 
a  hint  of  prayer,  some  sickness,  a  few  deaths,  and  one 
resurrection,  make  up  the  chief  incidents  of  the  tale 
— showing,  altogether,  a  very  large  growth  of  ''^  thistkSy' 
and  an  exceedingly  scanty  harvest  of  ''''figs.'' 

If,  from  this  compendium,  the  critic  has  not  learned 
more  than  he  ordinarily  does  of  the  books  which  he 
praises  or  blames,  and  the  reader  has  not  builded  in 
his  fancy  a  better  story  than  that  which  follows,  no 
blame,  for  lack  of  opportunity  so  to  do,  can  be  attrib- 
uted to 

The  Author. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER 

PAGB 

PROLOGUE, i 

L — The  Hegira, 

7 

IL— Locus, 

.           I8 

in. — The  Advent, 

22 

IV. — Hettys  Boy, 

.         28 

V. — "Where  is  thy  Brother 

?" 

34 

VL — Curtis  Field, 

45 

VII.— Rexvili.e,     . 

.       48 

VIII.— "A.  MoREY  &  Co.,"    . 

54 

IX. — The  Dreamer's  Legacy, 

61 

X.— Sworn  and  Sent, 

68 

XL— Ad  Interim, 

S3 

XII.— Dea  Certa, 

89 

XIII. — Jeduthon  Harper, 

94 

^IV.— From  Love  to  Larceny, 

98 

XV. — In  the  Current, 

109 

XVI. — For  How  Much  Money, 

114 

XVIL— The  Gulf,   . 

123 

XVIIL— The  Search, 

. 

131 

XIX.— A  Misfit,      . 

. 

135 

^XX.— Hi!  On! 

. 

142 

XXL— Witch  Hazel, 

. 

147 

XXIL— For  Sweet  Love 

's  Sake, 

157 

XXII L— On  the  Trail, 

. 

165 

XXIV.— The  Deluge, 

. 

179 

XXV.— Pro  Patria, 

. 

187 

VI 


COXTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXV'I, — "  Xo  LiMiTATiox  Against  the  Sov 
XXVII. — ]MoRE  Than  was  Bargained  for, 
XXVIII. — Approved  and  Confirmed, 
XXIX. — Spades  are.  Trumps, 
XXX.— The  Old  Story, 
XXXI. — The  Accolade, 
XXXII. — "  And  It  was  Light  !"    . 
XXXIII. — From  the  Gates  of  Death, 
XXXIV.— The  Sergeant's  Story,    . 

XXXV. — Snuffing  the  Battle  from  Afar, 
XXXVI. — The  Baptism  of  Fire,     . 
XXNCVII. — Restitution,     . 
XXXVIII.— King  Caucus,    . 
XXXIX. — Helmet  or  Toga,     . 
XL. — The  Temple  Closed, 
XLL— Home,         .... 
XLIL— The  T.  C.   R.  Co.,   . 
XLIII. — Enmeshed, 
XLIV. — Deep  Answereth  to  Deep," 
XLV. — Precept  vs    Practice, 
XLVI. — "V/hom  God  hath  Joined," 
XLVIL— The  Heavens  Opened,    . 
XLVIIL— A  Stork's  Nest, 
XLIX. — Under  which  King? 
L.  -In  the  Lion's  Den, 
LI. — The  Overstrained  Bow, 
LII. — The  Path  of  Duty, 
LIII. — The  Crown  of  Thorns, 
LIV. — A  Debt  of  Honor, 
LV. — A  Puzzled  Sovereign,     . 
LVI. — In  A.nlmo  Disponendo,     . 
LVII. — A  Council  of  State, 
LVIII. — In  the  Shade  of  the  Cyprl 
LIX. — Hetty's  Inheritance, 
LX. — Reversionary  Legatees.  " 


ereign, 


FIGS   AND  THISTLES. 


CHAPTER  /. 

THE      HEGIRA. 

IT  was  midsummer  on  the  Pymatuning.  A  dozen 
brawny-armed  mowers  were  piling  up  the  great 
swaths  of  timothy  and  herds-grass  in  Deacon  Andrus's 
meadow.  The  regular  thrill  of  the  swinging  blades 
and  the  cheery  tones  of  the  mowers  were  on  the  fresh 
morning  air.  Side  by  side,  with  steady  rythmic  blows, 
they  smote  the  waving  verdure.  The  dewdrops  sparkled 
on  the  swaths,  and  the  returning  blades  caught  the  early 
sunshine  and  reflected  its  light  along  the  undulating 
line.  They  had  swept  back  and  forth  across  the  wide 
bottom  from  early  dawn,  r„nd  it  was  now  well  past  the 
breakfast  hour. 

A  sturdy  boy  of  perhaps  a  dozen  years  had  left  his 
task  of  spreading  the  heavy  swaths,  and,  in  company 
with  a  boisterous  cur,  vv'as  assailing  a  black-snake  which 
had  climbed  an  elder-bush  on  the  hunt  for  eggs  or 
young  in  a  bird's  nest  hidden  among  the  branches. 
The  clamor  of  the  birds  whose  home  was  thus  invaded 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  dog;  his  baying  had 
in  turn  brought  to  the  spot  his  young  master,  with 
his  wooden  tedding-fork.  The  cluster  of  elder-bushes, 
growing   between  the  roots  of   a  decaying  stump,  and 

7 


8  FIGS  AND    THISTLES, 

protected  thereby  from  the  annual  destruction  which 
would  have  been  their  fate  in  the  open  meadow,  had 
shot  up  into  a  mimic  forest.  Twined  about  the  upper 
limbs  of  one  of  these,  the  graceful  serpent  raised 
his  crest  in  angry  defiance  both  of  the  birds  who 
circled  above  and  of  the  boy  and  dog  beneath.  His 
steely,  blue-black  scales  glistened  like  polished  mail 
in  the  morning  sunshine  as  he  alternately  avoided  the 
direct  assaults  of  the  distracted  birds  or  struck  re- 
vengefully at  them  when  they  incautiously  flew  too  near. 

In  the  boy,  the  rage  of  the  hunter  had  drowned  all 
other  thought.  His  face  shone  with  the  excitement 
which  the  chase  always  brings  to  a  brave  heart.  His 
eyes  flashed  underneath  the  ragged  brim  of  his  straw 
hat,  and  his  voice  trembled,  though  not  with  fear,  as 
he  urged  on  the  dog  and  with  his  fork  drove  the  threat- 
ening adder  from  branch  to  branch,  with  a  caution  and 
deliberation  that  showed  he  was  bent  upon  the  cap- 
ture, rather  than  the  destruction,  cf  the  reptile. 

"Seek  him,  Tige!"  he  shouted.  "He's  a  splendid 
fellow!  must  be  he's  a  king-snake.  We'll  catch  him  and 
put  him  in  the  barn.  I  heard  Grandpa  say  the  other 
day  that  he  wished  he  had  one  there  to  kill  the  rats. 
There  he  goes,  Tige!  Head  him!"  as  the  reptile,  with 
an  indefinite,  gliding  motion,  between  leaping  and  clam- 
bering, slid  into  the  outmost  and  tallest  of  the  ring  of 
elder  bushes  to  escape  his  enterprising  assailants. 

"Now   we've  got  him,   Tige!"  shouted  the   boy  in 
glee,  as  he  began  to  break  down  the  neighboring  bushes    ({{P 
with  his  fork   and  his  bare,  brown  feet,  which  pressed     ||Q 
the  stubborn  branches  aside   fearless  of  stubs  or  briars. 


THE  HEGIRA,  ^ 

Meantime  he  did  not  once  move  his  eyes  from  the  ma- 
lignant form  which  was  circled  in  the  fork  of  the 
highest  bush,  its  head  swaying  from  side  to  side,  with 
forked  tongue  playing  like  lightning  back  and  forth,  its 
eyes  glaring  like  coals  of  fire  as  it  watched  the  enemy's 
approach,  and  with  the  low,  ominous,  steady  hiss  which 
always  marks  this  reptile's  anger  sounding  out  upon 
the  morning  air.  Naturalists  say  that  the  sound  is  made 
with  the  mouth  or  nostrils ;  but  those  better  observers, 
the  enterpivising,  adventurous  country  boys — who  know 
more  of  birds  and  beasts,  swimming  and  creeping  things, 
than  any  grown  philosopher  ever  learned  by  playing 
Paul  Pry  in  the  temple  of  Nature — these  more  priv- 
ileged worshipers  say  that  it  is  made  by  the  rapid 
vibrations  of  the  reptile's  tail.  There  are  those  who 
would  believe  the  boys  even  if  they  knew  them  to  be 
wrong. 

Across  the  meadowy  the  mowers  had  finished  their 
swaths,  gathered  each  a  handful  of  the  softest  and 
dampest  herbage  from  among  the  latest  strokes,  and 
with  it  wiped  the  dew  and  leaves  from  his  dripping 
blade.  Then,  taking  from  pocket  or  waistband  the 
long,  brown  whetstone  of  true  Quinnibog  grit  so  highly 
prized  in  the  ante-mowing-machine  days,  with  skillful 
hand  swept  it  from  side  to  side,  along  the  gleaming  edge, 
from  heel  to  point  of  the  ringing  blade.  As  one  after 
another  finished  this  operation,  and,  leaning  upon  his 
scythe,  looked  back  at  the  long  swaths  they  had  just 
cut,  some  of  them  noticed  the  group  at  the  elder-bush, 
and  one  remarked : 

"What  is  that  boy  after,  with  his  dog,  now?" 


lo  ^JGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"He  has  treed  something  in  the  elders,  and  has  for- 
gotten everything  else  in  the  world,"  said  another. 

"  Treed  something!"  said  a  third.  "  What  can  it  be  .'* 
Nothing  bigger  than  a  chipmunk  could  stay  in  that 
elder-bush  !" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  first,  "it  is  a  black-snake. 
Look  close  and  you  will  see  his  scales  flash  in  the  sun  ! 
You  see  those  king-birds,  too,  making  a  deal  of  fuss. 
They  had  a  nest  there.  I  noticed  it  when  I  mowed 
around  the  stump  this  morning." 

"That's  so,"  was  the  answer.  "I  vow  that  boy  and 
his  dog  are  a  team.  I  would  like  to  know  what  they 
are  afraid  of!" 

"  Something  that  don't  grow  in  this  country,"  laughed 
another. 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  the  first.  "  Did  you  hear  about 
his  driving  Russell's  bull  out  of  the  old  Deacon's 
Number  Two  .-*" 

"  What !  not  the  one  Russell  had  to  kill  because  he 
was  so  dangerous.?" 

"Yes,  I  swow  it  was,"  was  the  answer;  "  and  only 
a  day  or  two  after  the  bull  had  run  Russell  out  of  his 
own  pasture,  too.  You  see  he  was  a  fine  animal,  a 
thorough-bred  Short  Horn,  and  Russell  never  would 
have  shot  him  if  he  had  not  come  so  near  killing  Fred 
Burlingame." 

"  But  how  did  the  little  scamp  yonder  come  to 
meddle  with  the  critter.?"  asked  the  other. 

"Why,  the  old  man  sent  him  to  do  it." 

"The  Deacon.?" 

"Yes,  the  Deacon." 


THE  HE G IRA.  1 1 

"Oh  !  it  can't  be,  now!"  chimed  in  one  of  the  hith- 
erto silent  listeners. 

"Darned  if  he  didn't,"  asserted  the  narrator.  "I 
heard  him  myself.  You  know  you  can  see  all  over 
the  cleared  part  of  the  Number  Two  Section  from  the 
house,  though  it  is  nigh  half  a  mile  away.  After  the 
timber  was  girdled  and  the  ground  about  half  cleared, 
in  the  Deacon's  slovenly,  stingy  way,  a  mighty  pretty 
coct  of  white  clover  came  up,  and  Russell's  cattle 
jumped  in  there,  the  bull  with  'em,  and  were  making 
the  clover  suffer,  when  the  old  man  see  'em,  and  sent 
the  boy  to  drive  'em  out." 

"But  he  didn't  see  the  bull!"  said  one,  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Well,  but  he  did,"  was  the  reply,  "  for  I  spoke 
about  him,  and  told  the  old  cuss  'twa'n't  safe  to  send 
the  boy  on  that  arrant." 

"And  what  did  he  say.^"  asked  one. 

"  That  he  could  attend  to  his  own  business,  and  he 
wished  I'd  follow  his  example." 

'Which  you  did?"  laughed  the  rest. 

"  Which  I  did,  like  a  cowardly  sneak,"  said  the  speaker, 
reddening.  "  But  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  off  that  ar 
boy.  He  didn't  seem  to  care  no  more  for  the  bull 
than  he  does  for  that  ar  black-snake  in  the  bush  yon- 
der. He  just  whistled  for  that  stump-tailed  yaller  dog, 
that  come  a  rarin'  an'  jumpin'  on  to  him,  a  barkin' 
round,  and  kinder  waggin'  his  hind  legs  instead  of  a 
tail,  as  they  went  off.  When  he  got  down  by  the  clay 
bank,  though,  I  see  the  little  fellow  gettin'  him  a  good 
stout  club  and  pickin'  up  some  stones,  and  concluded 


12  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

that  he  knew  something  about  the  job  he  had  on  hand. 
Well,  when  he  got  to  the  fence,  he  sot  on  the  top  rail 
awhile,  as  if  he  was  arrangin'  his  plan  of  operations. 
Then  he  got  down  and  stole  along  from  one  dead  tree 
to  another  round  to  the  side  of  the  herd  where  the 
bull  was,  keepin'  that  dog  as  cluss  to  his  heels  an'  as 
quiet  as  if  he  had  been  a  human  bein'.  Then  I  knew 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  the  bull  by  the 
horns,  as  you  may  say — that  is,  rush  in  and  run  the 
whole  crowd  off  with  a  sudden  scare.  I  was  all  of  a 
tremble,  though,  as  I  watched  him,  while  I  was  pre- 
tendin'  to  work  (I  was  layin'  fence  round  the  calf-pas- 
ter), but  the  old  Deacon  stood  and  looked  at  him  as 
cool  as  if  it  had  been  a  fly  crawlin'  towards  a  spider- 
web." 

"  The  old  cuss!"  said  one  of  the  younger  hands,  "he 
wants  to  get  the  boy  killed." 

"  Darned  if  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  speaker, 
"and  I  told  him  so  when  it  was  all  over." 

"And  how  did  he  take  that.?"  asked  one  of  the  elder 
ones. 

"  Just  as  a  hypocrite  always  takes  it  when  you  tell 
him  of  his  meanness,"  was  the  answer. 

"Oh!  come,  now,  Curt,  don't  lug  in  the  church," 
said  the  grave  man  who  had  asked  the  question. 

"Now,  George,  you  know  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you, 
nor  say  anythin'  agin'  the  church,  but  if  the  devil  don''t 
git  Burrill  Andrus  and  toast  him  for  a  murderer, 
he'd  better  quit  tryin'  to  catch  sinners,  and  have  his 
old  hot-bed  sowed  to  clover  and  made  a  calf-paster 
of." 


THE  HE G IRA.  13 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Good  for  you,  Curt,"  laughed  his 
auditors. 

"  But  Jiow  about  the  boy  and  the  bull?"  asked  the 
grave  man  who  had  provoked  this  sally. 

"Well,  sure  enough,"  responded  Curt.  "When  the 
boy  had  stole  up  as  nigh  as  he  could  without  bein'  seen, 
he  gathered  a  stone  in  each  hand,  and  he  and  the  dog 
made  a  rush  on  the  herd.  The  dog  barked  and  he 
hollered,  and,  runnin'  square  up  to  the  bull,  he  let  him 
have  a  stone — chuck  in  the  ribs.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  them  cattle  Tnakin'  tracks — the  steers  and  heifers 
spread  their  tails  and  run  like  deers  ;  but  the  bull  wasn't 
of  that  notion.  He  ran  a  little  way  as  brisk  as  any  of 
'em,  and  then  turned  round,  as  if  he  had  jest  remem- 
bered his  dignity,  to  see  what  all  the  fuss  was  about,  and 
there  he  stood,  a-pawin'  an'  a-bellerin',  with  the  young 
cattle  watchin'  him  on  t'other  side  the  fence,  an'  the  boy 
and  dog  before  him.  The  boy  stood  a  minute  as  if 
doubtful  about  what  he  should  do.  Then  he  clapped 
his  hands  to  that  dog,  which  I  believe  would  take  a 
lion  by  the  throat  if  his  master  told  him  to.  Tige 
started  for  the  bull,  and  the  bull  for  him,  and  then  I 
see  the  boy  runnin'  in  to  save  his  dog.  You  wouldn't 
believe  it,  but  the  little  scamp  ran  in  and  gave  the  bull 
a  whack  with  his  club  that  took  his  attention  off  from 
Tige,  and  gave  the  dog  a  chance  to  get  behind  a  stumj) 
that  stood  handy  by.  The  bull  ran  a  little  way,  and  then 
turned  on  the  boy.  I  tell  you,  I  thought  the  little 
fellow  was  gone ;  then  I  drew  back  the  fence-stake  I  had 
in  my  hand,  and  I  do  believe  that  if  I  had  seen  that 
boy   tossed    up    or   tramped   down   by    that   mad   bull 


J  4  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

there 'd  been  an  end  of  Biirrill  Andrus  right  there  and 
then." 

"  Oh !   not  so  bad  as  that,"  interposed  George. 

"I  do  believe  it,  George,"  responded  Curt.  "  I  never 
had  much  religion,  and  have  lost  most  of  what  I  had, 
but  I  do  believe  I  should  have  done  something  the  Lord 
would  have  been  glad  to  give  me  credit  for  if  1  had 
laid  him  out  without  troublin'  the  county  for  court  and 
jury.  However,  it  seemed  as  if  a  miracle  vras  wrought 
right  there  to  save  that  boy.  lie  hadn't  run  more  than 
ten  steps  afore  his  hat  flew  off,  and  in  a  second  more 
he  had  tumbled  over  a  log.  As  the  bull  couldn't  see 
the  boy,  he  veered  off  after  the  hat,  and  pawed  and 
gored  that  in  a  manner  jest  terrible  to  see.  I  thought 
sure  the  boy  would  give  up  the  job  then  and  steal 
around  till  he  got  out  of  the  field.  But  he  ^ain't  m.ade 
of  that  kind  of  stuff,  that  boy  ain't.  Tell  ye  what,  he's 
the  best  pluck  you  ever  see  in  your  lives.  No  back-out 
in  him.  By  that  time  I'd  got  tired  o'  mindin'  my  own 
business,  and  couldn't  stan'  it  no  longer.  So  I  turned 
round  and  cussed  the  old  man,  an'  told  him  if  the  boy 
was  hurt  I'd  see  that  he  was  hung  for  murder;  an'  then 
started  down  there  as  hard  as  I  could  put.  An'  the 
De'acon  he  come  too.  When  w^e  riz  the  brow  of  the 
knoll,  about  half  v/ay  there,  what  do  you  suppose  I 
see.?  That  boy  had  stole  round  towards  Russell's  side 
of  Number  Two,  got  behind  a  big  whitewood  and  took 
off  his  jacket.  It  was  lined  with  red  flannel,  you  see. 
So  he  turned  it  wrong  side  out,  stepped  to  one  side  the 
tree,  shook  it,  and  bellered,  to  attract  the  bull's  at- 
tention.    No  sooner  did  the  critter  see  it,  than  on  he 


THE  HEGIRA. 


15 


come,  like  all  possessed,  jest  makin'  the  dirt  fly !  The 
boy  slipped  behind  the  tree,  and,  as  he  went  by,  whipped 
round  on  the  other  side ;  but  the  dog  seemed  to  think 
his  mate  was  in  danger,  and  as  soon  as  the  bull  started 
for  the  boy,  he  was  after  him,  and  about  the  time  he 
passed  little  Mark,  Tige  made  a  jump  and  caught  hold 
of  the  critter's  tail.  This  seemed  to  kinder  confuse  the 
bull,  and  then  to  fairly  frighten  him.  I  heerd  him 
give  a  skeered  beller,  and  see  him  makin'  straight  for 
the  fence  with  that  yaller  dog  a-floppin'  an'  a-flyin' 
behind  him.  I  know'd  the  boy  was  safe  then,  and, 
though  he  ain't  no  kin  nor  count  to  me,  I  dropped 
down  on  a  log  and  cried  like  a  baby.  Pretty  soon  he 
come  along,  with  the  pieces  of  the  old  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  Tige  close  behind  with  about  half  that  critter's  tail 
in  his  mouth.  I  couldn't  help  gatherin'  the  boy  in  my 
arms,  and  wishin'  right  then  that  the  Lord  had  give  me 
just  as  manly  a  little  chap  as  that  Markham,  and  I 
wish  to  God  he  was  mine  now." 

"So  does  the  Deacon,  I  guess,"  said  one,  quizzically. 

"  No  doubt,"  answered  Curt.  "  The  poor  little  fel- 
ler was  mighty  cut  up  about  the  hat,  but  I  told  him  I'd 
make  it  right  with  the  Deacon.  An'  so  I  did.  I  told 
him,  when  we  was  milkin'  that  night,  that  if  he  aidn't 
treat  the  boy  better  I'd  make  Greenfield  too  hot  to  hold 
him." 

"  He's  been  told  that  afore,"  said  one. 

"  Well,"  said  Curt,  grimly,  "  he  got  the  boy  a  new 
straw  hat  next  day,  that  cost  a  shillin'.  It's  about  worn 
out  now,  and  I  guess  we'll  have  to  jog  his  mind  agin." 

"Look  there!'   exclaimed  one  who  had  turned  his 


l6  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

eyes  toward  the  lad  as  Ciirt's  narrative  was  concluded. 
"  Look  'there  !  If  that  little  scamp  haint  caught  that 
black  snake  alive!" 

Sure  enough,  there  the  boy  was,  swinging  the  writhing 
reptile  by  the  tail,  and  v/ith  the  tedding-fork  in  his  left 
hand  preventing  both  the  snake's  attempts  to  twine 
around  his  body  or  his  arm  and  the  endeavors  of  the  dog 
to  seize  the  snake.  He  was  shouting  with  the  glee  of  boy- 
ish triumph  as  he  held  his  capture  at  arm's  length  and 
watched  the  play  of  the  sunlight  on  the  scales  w^hich 
cased  its  supple  form. 

"Yes,"  said  the  observant  Curt,  "an'  he'll  catch 
something  else  in  a  minnit.     The  old  skunk!" 

At  the  very  instant  Curt  spoke,  the  form  of  Burrill 
Andrus  came  into  sight  around  the  bunch  of  elders, 
advancing  with  swift,  stealthy  steps,  and  face  glowing 
with  malignant  passion,  upon  the  unconscious  lad.  His 
upraised  hand  held  a  stick  which  would  have  been 
counted  cruel  if  used  as  an  ox-goad,  which,  even  as  a 
warning  halloo  went  out  from  Curt's  lips,  fell  once  and 
again -over  the  unprotected  shoulders  of  the  boy.  The 
child  sprang  away  with  a  scream  of  surprise,  and  then, 
as  he  saw  its  cause,  he  rushed  at  his  assailant  with  a 
cry  of  rage.  He  had  no  means  of"  defence  save  the 
writhing  serpent,  which  he  still  held.  The  mowers  saw 
a  gleam  of  steely  light  flash  round  the  boy's  head  as  he 
hurled  this  unique  weapon  full  at  the  face  of  the  ag- 
gressor. 

There  was  a  moment's  confusion,  and  then  Burrill 
Andrus  came  charging  down  the  swaths  towards  the 
mowers,  making  frantic  clutches  at  his  head,  with  eyes 


THE   HEGIRA. 


17 


almost  bursting  from  their  sockets,  and  shouting,  in 
terror : 

"Take  him  off!  take  him  off!" 

As  he  came  nearer,  they  saw  that  the  reptile,  true 
to  his  prehensile  instinct,  had  quickly  coiled  again  and* 
again  close  about  the  Deacon's  neck,  which  happened 
to  be  the  first  portion  of  his  body  touched  by  the  cling- 
ing projectile,  and  the  frantic  efforts  that  worthy  had 
made  to  remove  the  scaly  necklace  had  only  impelled 
the  serpent  to  clasp  him  more  closely,  so  that  when  he 
reached  the  mowers,  what  with  fright  and  suffocation 
combined,  Burrill  Andrus  was  almost  as  near  dead  as 
alive,  and  could  only  whisper: 

"Take  him  off!" 

Curtis  Fields  was  the  first  to  comprehend  the  situa- 
tion, and,  rushing  forward,  he  seized  from  his  employer's 
hand  the  goad,  which  he  still  held,  and  cried : 

"  Hold  still !  Let  me  kill  him  !"  and  began  to  strike 
fiercely  at  the  blue  line  on  the  Deacon's  neck.  Again 
and  again  the  heavy  rod  hissed  through  the  air  and 
fell  upon  the  Deacon's  neck  and  shoulders.  Just  how 
many  blows  it  took  to  kill  that  snake  has  never  been 
exactly  recorded;  but  when  it  had  been  finally  removed 
and  was  lying  upon  the  green  swath,  dead  and  limp,  and 
the  Deacon  had  taken  a  strong  swig  of  the  "  black-strap" 
which  the  mowers  of  that  day  always  carried  a-field, 
to  preserve  their  strength  and  be  at  hand  in  case  of 
accident,  he  rubbed  his  back  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
as  he  sai^,  glancing  suspiciously  at  Curt : 

"  'Pears  like  it  took  a  sight  of  larrupin'  to  kill  that 
snake,  anyhow." 


1 8  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"Wal!"  said  Curt,  demurely.  "I  'spose  when  one 
sees  a  human  critter  in  sich  distress  as  yours  was  'tain't 
nateral  for  him  to  be  particular  how  he  helps  him  out. 
If  I  hadn't  used  that  ox-gad  rather  lively,  where  do  you 
•'spose  you'd  'ave  been  now,  Deacon  ?" 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  the  Deacon,  with  a  shudder  ; 
but  it  is  doubtful  if  even  then  he  was  quite  satisfied  as 
to  the  motive  of  Curt's  activity. 


Along  the  old  State  road,  which  stretched  away 
to  the  northward  like  a  great  yellow  ribbon,  trailing 
through  the  green  meadows  and  dark  beech-woods  to- 
ward the  bright  lake,  plodded,  all  that  Summer's  day,  a 
bare-footed,  bare-headed  boy,  with  a  yellov/  stub-tailed 
dog  lolling  at  his  heels. 


CHAPTER  II, 

LOCUS. 


AS  our  story  is  concerned  mainly  with  a  region 
which  has  been  somewhat  famous  in  the  swift- 
conquering  civilization  of  the  West,  let  us  pause  for  a 
moment  and  obtain  some  idea  of  "how  the  land  lies"  in 
which  our  characters  are  to  act  their  respective  parts. 
Along  the  southern  shore  of  Lake  Erie  stretches  a 
verdant  plateau,  bounded  on  the  northward  by  a  jagged 


LOCUS.  19 

line  of  dark  shelving  cliffs,  which  fall  brokenly  to  wide 
sandy  beaches,  or  dip  sheerly  down  to  the  waters,  bab- 
bling or  boisterous,  of  this  inland  sea.  The  gentle 
slope  which  rises  to  the  southward  is  cut  here  and 
there  with  dark,  winding  seams — great  furrows,  along 
which  dull  and  sluggish  streams  seem  unwilling  to  take 
their  way  down  to  the  welcoming  lake.  On  the  slaty 
sides  of  these  deeply-cut  water-courses  the  clustering 
hemlocks  and  clambering  grape-vines  cling  in  matted 
density ;  while  rich-grained  maples,  towering  hickories, 
and  giant  sycamores,  whose  white  arms  toss  above  them 
all,  crowd  the  low  bottoms,  save  where  the  forest  has 
been  shorn  away  and  the  rich  alluvium  is  hidden  with 
a  dense  growth  of  serried  maize  or  waving  timothy. 
Near  the  shore,  the  verdant  slope  is  barred  with  sandy 
ridges  that  parallel  the  shore-line,  as  if  the  waves  which 
dash  against  the  slaty  rock  now  forming  the  lake  brim 
had  sometime  shaped  their  curves.  The  level  upland, 
dotted  with  clustering  villages  and  checkered  into  reg- 
ular blocks  of  cleanly,  cultured  farms,  which  lie  cosily 
between  wood  and  orchard,  reaches  southward  Mong 
the  western  boundary  of  Pennsylvania  until  it  passes 
the  divide  which  separates  the  waters  of  the  lake  from 
those  which  seek  the  far-away  Gulf  through  the  Ohio 
,and  its  tributaries;  stretches  westward  until  thiee  mill- 
tons  of  acres  of  fat  pastures,  rich  grain-fields,  and  heavy 
^vooded  loams  are  embraced  in  its  sweep ;  and  then 
/  hurries  back  northward  to  the  bright  expanse  of  San- 
I  dusky  Bay,  as  if  loth  to  leave  the  blue  waters  to  which 
I  it  clings.  This  broad  and  fertile  plateau  is  known  as 
the  ''Western  Reserve." 


20  PIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

There  is  nothing  striking  or  picturesque  in  its  phys- 
ical features  to  impress  the  beholder  at  first  sight. 
Neither  rugged  mountain  nor  imprisoned  valley,  sweep- 
ing river,  thundering  waterfall,  towering  precipice,  un- 
wooded  prairie,  nor  desert  waste  is  to  be  found  within 
its  limits ;  yet,  somehow,  day  by  day,  the  fair  lake  wins 
the  watcher's  love,  and  the  rich  pastures,  luxuriant 
meadows,  droning  streams,  dense  forests,  and  teeming 
orchards  sink  into  his  mind — a  rare  and  never-to-be- 
forgotten  picture  of  rich  and  satisfying  loveliness.  A 
region  of  small  farms  and  cosy  homes>  where  few  are 
rich  and  fewer  still  are  poor;  whether  clad  in  a  mantle 
of  green  or  spread  w^ith  a  carpet  of  snow,  it  is  never 
without  the  charm  of  a  quiet  and  peculiar  beauty. 

So,  too,  its  people.  Gathered  in  pretty  villages,  or 
making  the  regularly  intersecting  roads  seem  like  village 
streets,  with  thickly  -  crowding  farmers'  houses ;  little 
given  to  manufacture,  but  each  one  winning  from  a  few 
fat  acres  something  more  than  the  need  of  the  present 
requires,  and  looking  forward  to  see  his  children  become 
something  more  than  he  has  been — there  is  nothing 
striking  or  marvelous  about  their  lives,  which  are  sim- 
ply plain,  matter-of-fact  existences,  with  only  an  under- 
tone of  earnest  aspiration,  unassuming  sensibility,  and 
steadfast  devotion  to  the  right,  that  takes  them  out  of 
the  co.nmonplace.  Descended  from  the  Puritan,  the 
thrift  and  vigor  of  the  stock  remains,  while  the  spirit  of 
the  Great  West  has  widened  and  deepened  the  ances- 
tral nature.  Planted  upon  soil  dedicated  even  in  its 
savage  wildness  to  intelligence  by  the  thrifty  foresight 
of   the     parent    colony,    Connecticut  —  whose    commoi 


LOCUS.  21 

schools  are  the  fruit  of  the  fund  its  sale  supplied — 
these  people  have  ever  been  peculiarly  ardent  votaries 
of  education.  With  an  inherited  habit  of  religious 
thought,  and  a  charity  bred  of  iconoclastic  imimlse 
towards  the  idols  of  the  past,  their  "  New  Connecticut" 
has  become  the  home  of  religious  freedom.  While 
sects  abound,  religious  discord  is  unknown.  Claiming 
each  for  himself  the  widest  freedom  of  act  and  opinion, 
they  early  made  the  Reserve  a  home  of  personal  liberty, 
— the  Mecca  of  the  slave  escaped  from  bondage,  and 
the  ''benighted  ground"  on  which  the  hunter  of  human 
prey  was  sure  to  lose  the  trace  of  his  victim. 

In  thought,  as  in  action,  it  marks  the  median  line 
between  the  overflowing  East  and  the  ever-welcoming 
West.  It  is  not  a  romantic  region  nor  a  romantic  peo- 
ple. Its  soil  is  net  rich  with  blood,  nor  are  its  glens 
peopled  with  legendary  sprites.  Save  the  break  in  the 
forest  line  which  in  a  few  places' still  shows  where 
"  Mad  Anthony  W^ayne "  burst  through  the  original 
wilderness  on  his  impetuous  way  to  rescue  his  belea- 
guered brothers  in  arms,  its  soil  bears  no  imprint  of 
the  foot  of  war.  Except  the  echo  of  Perry's  guns,  its 
shores  never  heard  the  tumult  of  strife.  Neither  in  its 
summer  flow  nor  winter  fetters  has  the  fair  lake  wit- 
nessed on  its  borders  any  of  those  savage  convulsions 
which  rend  the  fibers  of  a  people's  heart  and  leave  their 
scars  upon  generations ;  but  the  murmur  of  its  waves 
has  ever  mingled  with  the  breath  of  morning  and  even- 
ing prayer  and  the  peaceful  hum  of  daily  toil. 

Here  is  our  story  laid. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    ADVENT. 

JACOB  CHURR  was  the  one  unthrifty  ne'er-do-well 
of  the  little  village  of  Lanesville,  which  had  grown 
up  at  the  center  of  Township  No.  7,Range  5,  of  the  origi- 
nal survey  of  New  Connecticut.  This  township  either 
the  surveyor  or  its  early  inhabitants  had  christened 
Greenfield.  It  was  a  quiet  farming  town  upon  the 
head-waters  of  the  Pymatuning,  a  stream  that  meanders 
in  lazy  uncertainty  through  its  bounds,  heading  at  dif- 
ferent times  towards  every  point  of  the  compass,  as  if 
its  dark,  sluggish  waters  had  not  yet  concluded  whether 
to  seek  the  bright  lake  to  the  northward,  the  steaming 
Gulf  far  away  to  the  southward,  or  to  drone  and  idle 
forever  under  the  clustering  willows  and  alders  of 
Greenfield. 

How  Jacob  Churr  ever  came  to  leave  the  East  or 
seek  the  West  was  a  mystery  to  every  one  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Why  he  stayed  there  would  have  been  an 
equal  mystery  but  for  the  law  of  nature  which  induces 
all  matter  to  remain  /;/  statu  quo  until  moved  by  some 
external  force.  Such  a  force  never  came  to  impel  the 
gentle  Jacob  a\vay  from  the  banks  of  the  pleasant 
stream  he  so  much  resembled.  He  seemed  to  have  no 
wish  and  no  capacity  to  acquire,  except  for  the  purpose 
of  -^pending  without   permanent  advantage.     He   could 


THE  ADVENT.  23 

do  almost  anything — except  work — the  people  said. 
No  one  so  deft  as  he  in  mending  a  gun,  or  a  watch,  or 
whatever  was  too  delicate  or  too  intricate  for  the  arm 
of  the  smith  or  the  wit  of  the  carpenter.  His  kindly, 
unassuming  good-nature  had  been  a  sure  passport  to 
the  good-will  of  his  neighbors.  For  some  years  he 
passed  the  summer  months  in  hunting  and  fishing  along 
the  creek,  a  welcome  presence  at  every  sugar-camp,  at 
every  scene  of  youthful  gayety,  and  at  every  farmer's 
home.  In  the  winter  he  taught  the  village  school,  and 
anticipated  the  time  when  love,  and  not  the  rod,  should 
be  the  scepter  of  the  pedagogue.  Then  he  became  the 
trusted  clerk  of  Wycke,  the  great  merchant,  w^ho  grew 
up  at  the  Lanesville  Corners  and  drew  the  trade  of  a 
rich  region  to  his  counters  by  honesty,  candor,  and 
enterprise.  Jacob  Churr  was  his  employer's  equal  in 
honesty,  fair  dealing,  and  anxiety  to  please  ;  and  his 
employer  prized  him  all  the  more  that  there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  feared  from  his  enterprise.  So  he  grew  into 
the  hearts  of  the  people  among  whom  he  dwelt,  loved 
in  a  quiet,  half-contemptuous  fashion  which  suited  well 
his  nature.  He  came  to  be  called  "  Jake  Churr,"  by 
old  and  young,  in  an  incredibly  short  time ;  and  before 
he  was  forty  "old  Jake,"  or  "old  Jake  at  Lanesville," 
was  better  known  than  almost  any  man  in  the  country 
round.  After  Wycke 's  failure,  Jake  became  postmaster, 
and  was  afterwards  chosen  a  justice  of  the  peace. 
Doing  always  what  nobody  else  could  do  as  well  or 
would  do  for  nothing;  everybody's  friend  but  his  own; 
inventing  machines  for  others  to  patent ;  laying  plans 
for  others  to  grow  rich  by ;  keeping  up  the  school  for 


24  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

Other  people's  children ;  the  clerk  of  the  church  and 
secretary  of  the  Masonic  lodge ;  working  always  for 
others,  with  little  regard  for  himself — he  seemed  like 
the  village  green,  or  the  town  pump  which  stood  upon 
it — public  property.  He  was  everybody's  friend  and 
everybody's  adviser,  yet  no  one  dreamed  that  he  needed 
friendship  or  ever  thought  of  giving  him  advice, — until 
at  length  he  amazed  every  one  by  marrying  Hetty 
Andrus,  the  one  pretty  daughter  of  Deacon  Burrill 
Andrus,  the  richest,  stingiest,  roughest  specimen  of 
Mammon-worshiping  Christian  that  ever  lived  and  dug 
and  scraped  on  the  Pymatuning. 

The  Deacon  had  always  regarded  his  fair  daughter 
as  so  much  merchandise,  which  should — in  a  Christian 
way,  of  course — be  exchanged  in  due  time  for  certain 
valuable  lands  which  adjoined  his  creek  farm,  and 
become  herself  the  property  of  one  of  his  neighbor's 
boorish  sons.  So  when  her  marriage  to  "old  Jake 
Churr "  was  announced  by  the  couple  in  person,  he 
ordered  them  out  of  his  house  with  most  unchristian- 
like  violence,  and  bade  them  never  return. 

No  one  was  so  little  concerned  about  this  reception 
as  the  gentle  bachelor  of  forty-live  and  his  bride  of 
sixteen.  People  talked,  old  and  young,  far  and  near, 
of  the  amazing  incident.  Some  blamed  the  Deacon 
and  pitied  old  Jake ;  some  blamed  old  Jake  and  pitied 
little  Hetty  ;  while  still  others  blamed  Hetty  and  pitied 
the  gentle  Jacob.  The  first  were  generally  well-to-do 
parents;  the  second,  aspiring  young  men;  and  the 
third,  young  ladies  of  uncertain  matrimonial  prospects. 
Jacob   moved    Hetty    into    the    little     box   which    had 


THE  ADVENT.  25 

formed  his  bachelor  quarters  so  long — the  room  in  the 
rear  of  the  post-office,  which  was  his  shop  or  office 
according  to  the  employment  in  which  he  was  for  the 
time  engaged,  and  for  a  year  this  gentle  January  and 
blushing  June  exemplified  love  in  a  cottage  so  beauti- 
fully that  no  one  dreamed  that  poverty  caused  them  a 
moment's  uneasiness  or  apprehension,  as,  indeed,  we 
may  well  doubt  if  it  did. 

Then  came  to  Hetty  the  trial  of  maternity,  and  her 
fair  young  life  was  rendered  up  in  giving  being  to  a 
sturdy  son.  Poor  Jacob  held  her  in  his  arms  and  saw 
her  life  ebb  away  in  silent  wonder,  as  it  seemed,  that 
love  could  not  conquer  death. 

When  she  had  gone,  he  suddenly  aged.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  the  boy  she  had  put  in  his  arms,  people 
said,  he  would  not  have  outlived  her  a  fortnight. 
"Hetty's  child,"  "Hetty's  boy" — he  never  called  him 
by  any  other  name — kept  him  on  earth  awhile.  He 
nursed  and  cared  for  the  infant  with  all  the  tenderness 
and  assiduity  of  a  woman.  He  seemed  to  forget  that 
he,  too,  must  live,  and  that  the  years  which  had  gone 
before  had  not  left  any  store  upon  whose  sweets  he 
could  feed  in  idle  hours.  For  a  time  the  friends  whom 
he  had  served  so  freely  and  untiringly  did  not  forget 
him,  and  never  prophet  was  fed  more  miraculously  or 
more  mysteriously  than  old  Jake  and  Hetty's  baby. 
But  at  length  the  kindness  of  the  people  of  Greenfield 
tired.  "Jake  Churr  must  not  expect  to  be  fed  always, 
if  he  did  have  a  young  wife  die  and  leave  a  baby.^  Did 
he  think  people  were  going  to  support  him  always  just 
because  he  had  been   fool  enough  to  marry,  when  he 


26  I^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

Avas  no  more  fit  for  marriage  than  a  ten-year-old  boy?" 
These  questions  the  people  asked,  and  answered  for 
themselves  by  withholding  further  gratuity. 

Then  Jacob  Churr  awoke  to  the  fact  that  he  had 
wasted  a  life,  and  sat  himself  down  to  redeem,  for  the 
sake  of  "Hetty's  boy,"  the  years  that  he  had  lost.  He 
had  long  had  dim  ideas  of  a  certain  machine  whose 
perfection,  he  thought,  would  secure  to  its  inventor  a 
fortune  large  enough  to  satisfy  any  man's  rapacity.  He 
would  complete  this  for  Hetty's  child.  With  the  fault 
common  to  imaginative  natures  when  driven  by  the 
sting  of  actual  want,  he  looked  beyond  present  neces- 
sity, and  forgot  poverty  in  the  hope  of  gaining  riches. 
From  that  time  on  he  lived  and  wrought  on  his  one 
grand  idea.  Sometimes  he  Vv^ould  do  a  little  work  for 
others,  but  only  rarely  could  he  be  induced  to  leave 
"  his  craze,"  as  the  people  called  the  machine  he  was 
modeling.  The  pittance  that  he  received  for  his  pub- 
lic duties,  which  he  still  discharged  with  unvarying 
punctuality,  kept  away  absolute  w^ant,  and  for  himself 
he  had  no  other  care. 

When  the  boy  was  seven  years  old,  his  father  took 
him  one  night  into  the  little  shop  and  told  him  that 
the  machine  was  then  complete — his  machine — Hetty's 
boy's  machine ;  told  him  it  w^ould  some  time  bring  him 
a  great  deal  of  money ;  told  him  its  purpose ;  showed 
him  how  it  worked,  and  finally  gave  him  one  little 
piece  which  fitted  into  a  particular  part,  without  which 
the  whole  was  valueless.  It  was  this  which  had  caused 
him  the  most  labor  and  study,  and  he  was  sure  no  one 
would  ever  guess  its  form  or  use,  especially  as  he  had 


THE   ADVENT.  27 

withheld  from  all  others  any  reference  to  the  purpose 
for  which  the  quaint  and  intricate  system  of  pulleys 
and  wheels  was  designed.  This  piece  he  enjoined  upon 
the  boy  that  he  should  keep  sacredly  in  his  own  pos- 
session should  anything  happen  to  his  father,  and  when 
he  was  old  enough  to  understand  the  machine  he  could 
put  it  in  its  place.  So  Jacob  wrapped  the  piece  in  fine 
paper  and  put  it  in  a  locket  which  had  belonged  to 
the-  child's  mother,  carefully  closed  and  brazed  the 
jointure,  and  gave  it  into  the  keeping  of  the  boy  with 
many  an  importunate  injunction  that  he  should  keep 
both  it  and  the  little  model  carefully,  and  tell  no  one 
their  use  or  value  should  anything  happen  to  his  father. 
The  son  wondered,  but  was  attent.  It  was  a  strange 
message  to  entrust  to  the  little  child,  but  "Hetty's 
boy"  was  older  and  riper  to  the  heart  of  the  recluse 
father  than  to  any  other.  Fortunately  for  him,  the 
cliild  did  not  comprehend  the  strange  flush  upon  the 
pallid  cheek  nor  the  unwonted  fire  in  the  tender  eyes 
as  he  heard  these  admonitions  and  listened  to  the 
overwhelming  tenderness  of  the  evening  prayer. 

The  next  morning  Jacob  Churr  had  left  Hetty's 
boy,  and  gone  to  join  Hetty  herself.  The  neighbors 
called  it  consumption ;  but  the  restful  glory  of  eternal 
morning  was  on  the  wasted  brow.  When  they  buried 
the  father,  in  the  vehemence  of  long-slumbering  charity, 
they  talked  about  tar  and  feathers  for  Deacon  Andrus 
unless  he  took  to  his  home  and  cared  for  the  orphan 
child  of  his  disowned  Hetty  and  the  gently  Jacob 
whom  he  had  allowed  to  die  from  want  and  over- 
work. 


28  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

So  Deacon  Andrus  yielded,  and  took  his  grandson 
home ;  but  he  did  it  purely  as  an  act  of  charity,  which 
he  did  not  permit  to  be  unknown  for  want  of  an  his- 
torian. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Hetty's  boy. 

"TTETTY'S  BOY,"  as  a  first  mark  of  kindly  care  on 
-L  J-  .  the  part  of  his  pious  grandfather,  was  duly 
christened  Markham  Churr,  a  ceremony  which  Jacob 
had  neglected,  not,  it  is  probable,  from  any  want  of 
reverence,  but  simply  because  he  had  forgotten  it.  Per- 
haps, too,  it  grated  upon  his  feeling  to  isolate  "  Hetty's 
boy "  from  association  with  the  worshiped  presence 
which  his  memory  kept  green,  by  conferring  upon  the 
child  any  other  name.  The  second  wife  of  Burrill 
Andrus,  after  vainly  questioning  the  wondering  child 
whom  chance  had  committed  to  her  care,  in  regard  to 
that  presence  whom  her  jealousy  could  not  allow  to 
rest  in  peace  even  in  the  grave,  and  finding  him  utterly 
non-committal,  simply  because  he  had  nothing  to  tell 
save  the  every-day  tendernesses  of  a  simple  and  loving 
nature,  had  set  her  face  as  a  flint  against  the  little  fellow. 
She  selected,  and  insisted  upon,  the  name  Azariah  as 
the    most   fitting   and    appropriate.     But,   for    some   in- 


HETTY'S  BOY.  29 

scrutable  reason,  the  Deacon  had  pitched  upon  "  Mark- 
ham,"  and  for  once  \vas  utterly  obdurate  and  unmoved 
both  by  his  wife's  tears  and  remonstrances.  Perhaps  if 
she  had  been  allowed  to  gratify  her  little  spitefulness 
in  this  insignificant  matter  she  might  have  remembered 
charity  in  some  greater  ones. 

Having  been  duly  christened,  the  boy  was  allowed 
to  eat  at  his  grandfather's  table  abundance  of  plain, 
nutritious  food,  permitted  to  wear  such  clothing  of  the 
elders  of  the  household  as  could  not  be  otherwise  dis- 
posed of,  with  the  addition  now  and  then  of  a  jacket 
or  wampus  made  for  his  especial  benefit.  When  out  of 
doors,  he  was  a  mark  for  the  ill-temper  of  his  grand- 
father. He  was  assigned  to  all  sorts  of  tasks,  proper 
and  improper,  and  was  rev/arded  alike  for  performance 
and  failure  with  harsh  words,  and  not  unfrequently 
harsher  blow^s.  Within  doors,  there  was  a  presence 
even  more  malign  to  the  peace  of  the  little  Markham. 
Hetty's  mother,  who  had  died  in  the  infancy  of  her 
only  child,  had  been  a  sweet,  penniless  orphan,  to 
whom  Deacon  Andrus,  then  a  man  of  middle  age, 
had,  strangely  enough,  given  more  of  love  than  those 
who  knew  him  best  believed  his  nature  capable  of  be- 
stowing. He  had  first  met  her  during  a  visit  to  the 
East,  undertaken  in  the  hope  of  profit  to  arise  from 
the  death  of  some  of  his  kindred.  It  may  not  be  pre- 
cisely correct  to  say  that  Burrill  Andrus  could  fall  in 
love  with  anything  but  himself  and  money,  but  the 
feeling  which  he  had  for  Ccrdie  Hatch  was  so  foreign 
to  his  nature  that  it  was  always  after  her  death  a  sur- 
prise even  to  himself.     During  her  life  she  had   exer- 


30  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

cised  a  strange  softening  influence  over  him,  and  though 
it  was  not  generally  believed  that,  her  attachment  for 
him  was  of  that  absorbing  character  which  is  usually 
regarded  as  the  proper  concomitant  of  the  marriage 
relation,  yet  she  had  too  much  regard  for  herself  and 
for  him  not  to  do  all  in  her  power  to  make  her  uncouth 
husband  respectable  and  respected.  There  were  soft 
sides  to  the  Deacon's  character,  too,  rough  and  harsh  as 
he  showed  himself  toward  his  grandson,  and  better 
parts  than  any  one  would  have  dreamed  who  had  not 
studied  his  nature  with  the  skill  and  forbearance  which 
only  a  faithful  wife  can  know  or  exercise.  Unfortu- 
nately, the  evil  side  of  his  nature  was  far  more  easily 
developed  than  the  good,  and  vrhen,  after  the  death  of 
Ketty's  mother,  there  came  into  his  household  a  nature 
strangely  biased  toward  possible  evil,  he  yielded  to  its 
influence  even  more  readily  than  he  had  bowed  to  that 
of  his  dead  wife ;  so  that,  when  Rhoda  Nellis  JDecame 
the  stepmother  of  Hetty  Andrus,  her  father  sealed  the 
good  of  his  nature  in  the  sepulcher  of  the  past  and  gave 
the  key  of  a  faulty  nature  into  the  keeping  of  one  still 
more  defective  than  his  own. 

It  were  bootless  to  delineate  the  character  of  the 
swarthy  young  woman  to  whom  had  been  committed 
the  care  of  Hetty  Andrus,  and  who,  in  mature  years, 
was  forced  to  assume  a  similar  relation  to  Hetty's  boy, 
farther  than  relates  to  these  two  facts.  She  was  both 
better  and  worse  than  her  antecedents  seemed  to  justify. 
AVith  few  advantages,  she  had  gained  no  little  culture. 
Conscious  of  better  things  than  she  had  achieved,  she 
regarded  with  envy  and  hate  whatever  came  within  the 


HETTY'S  BOY.  31 

range  of  her  life  which  she  conceived  to  be  better, 
higher  or  more  preferred  than  herself.  Excellence  above 
her  own  was  a  thing  to  be  hated  rather  than  emulated. 
It  was  said  that  a  trace  of  Indian  blood — a  suspicion  of 
which  her  dark  eyes,  stl-aight,  jet  hair  and  stealthy  look 
might  vv'ell  justify — had  given  her  the  habit  of  sullen, 
intense  moroseness,  which  could  not  be  diverted  from 
its  object,  and  which  hugged,  as  its  chief  enjoyment, 
illusion  which  brought  the  most  profound  grief.  How- 
ever this  might  be,  such  was  her  nature;  and  the  one 
abiding  object  of  her  envious  malignity  was  the  dead 
Cordie  who  had  preceded  her  in  the  affections  and 
home  of  Burrill  Andrus;  and  this  envy  in  time  ripened 
into  a  relentless  hate  of  everything,  animate  or  inani- 
mate, which  was  in  the  remotest  degree  associated  with 
the  dead  object  of  her  undying  jealousy.  Clothing 
which  she  had  worn,  furniture  she  had  used,  flowers  and 
pets  she  had  nurtured,  shared  Vvith  Hetty  and  her  boy 
the  savage,  revengeful  hate  of  this  woman,  who  was 
more  the  victim  of  a  distorted  nature  than  the  deliber- 
ate originator  of  wrong.  To  what  annoyance  feminine 
hatred  will  descend,  to  what  extremes  it  will  push  a 
brutal  or  a  careless  nature  which  is  controlled  by  its  in- 
stigations, may  be  better  imagined  than  recited.  For 
four  years  and  more  after  his  father's  death  young 
Markham  Churr  felt  them  in  all  their  intensity.  Yet, 
while  they  implanted  somewhat  of  evil  in  his  nature, 
they  brought  not  a  little  of  good  in  their  train. 

Almost  every  disadvantage  in  this  life  has  something 
of  compensation  connected  with  it.  Deprived  of  hu- 
man affection,  the  boy  was  driven  to  his  dog,  the  woods 


32 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


and  the  fields,  for  companionship.  Every  form  of  life 
which  inhabited  them  was  familiar  to  him.  Every  tree 
and  flower  had  a  place  in  his  mind  as  distinct  as  that 
given  it  in  \\\^  flora  of  the  botanist,  and  perhaps  even 
more  accurate.  Every  year  there  was  a  stormy  attempt 
to  compel  his  attendance  at  the  district  school,  "but  the 
jealous  parsimony  which  kept  him  always  in  the  most 
uncouth  attire  so  stung  his  proud  nature,  by  making 
him  the  object  of  ridicule,  that  the  victory  was  always 
on  his  side,  and  after  a  few  days  or  weeks  he  was  sure 
to  substitute  his  dog  and  the  woods,  or  a  corner  of  the 
old  garret,  for  the  school-house,  the  unobservant  teacher 
and  the  taunting  juveniles.  This  garret  was  the  city 
of  refuge  of  the  unfortunate  lad  during  all  these  years. 
Very  early  during  his  stay  at  his  grandfather's  he  dis- 
covered a  loose  board  in  the  siding  that  enclosed  the 
unfinished  attic  of  the  parlor  wing,  v/hich  v»'as  acces- 
sible from  the  roof  of  another  wing.  This  opening  he 
from  time  to  time  enlarged,  improved  and  sedulously 
concealed.  No  punishment  could  extort  from  him  the 
place  of  his  hiding;  and  even  the  cunning  of  a  malig- 
nant woman  had  not  been  sufficient  to  track  him  to  it. 
Even  Tige,  the  dog,  seemed  in  league  with  his  boy  mas- 
ter, for  when  an  attempt  v/as  made  to  induce  him  to 
follow  the  boy's  trail,  he  stupidly  refused  to  under- 
stand what  it  was  intended  that  he  should  do,  or  ridicu- 
lously persisted  in  baying  at  the  pump-stock  (from  the 
top  of  which,  in  truth,  young  Markham  was  accustomed 
to  clamber  to  the  roof  that  led  to  his  den).  Into  this 
retreat,  which  was  lighted  through  the  interstices  of  some 
unnamed  architectural  ornament  in  the  apex  of  the  gable, 


HETTY  S  BOY. 

Markham  smuggled  from  the  garret  proper,  a  little  at  a 
time,  books  and  trinkets  which  had  once  belonged  to 
his  mother  and  which  her  successor's  hate  had  consigned 
to  oblivion.  Some  blankets,  boards  and  boxes,  together 
with  his  own  peculiar  toy-treasures,  constituted  the  fur- 
niture of  his  queer  snuggery;  to  which  was  added,, 
whenever  his  purpose  served  and  concealment  Avas  de- 
sirable, such  stock  of  eatables  as  he  could  purloin  from 
the  unlocked  larder  and  ever-open  cellar  to  enable  him 
to  hold  out  a  sufficient  time  to  make  his  absence  a 
matter  of  remark  in  the  neighborhood,  and  compel  his 
enemies — for  such  he  had  come  to  regard  them — to 
capitulate,  upon  condition  that  he  should  resume  his 
visible  habit. 

This  life  had  cultivated  the  virtues  of  self-reliance, 
caution,  and  endurance,  to  a  remarkable  degree,  and 
had  developed  to  a  like  extent  certain  faults  of  a  kin- 
dred nature — stubbornness,  indocility,  and  a  kind  of 
ugly  temper.  He  was  accounted  in  the  neighborhood 
a  strange  child,  and  would  have  been  called  bad  but 
for  the  general  dislike  of  the  neighbors  for  Burrill  An- 
drus  and  his  wife,  and  their  consequent  sympathy  with 
the  lad.  Two  fast  friends  he  had — Curtis  Field,  his 
grandfather's  farm-hand,  and  the  stump-tailed  yellow 
f^og»  Tige;  both  knowing  by  instinct  the  kind  and 
affectionate  nature  underlying  the  rough  surface-indi- 
cations. 

And  now  we  are  ready  to  follow  the  pair  in  their 
wanderings. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  WHERE    IS    THY    BROTHER  ?" 

THE  absence  of  the  boy  Markham  after  the  black- 
snake  adventure  was  at  first  attributed  to  one  of 
his  "sulky  fits,''  as  the  family  and  neighbors  were  ac- 
customed to  call  his  inclination  to  hide  away  from  his 
persecutors.  But  when  the  days  grew  into  weeks,  and 
neither  he  nor  his  inseparable  companion,  the  dog 
Tige,  were  seen  about  the  Deacon's  premises,  surprise 
was  awakened  in  the  neighborhood,  which  very  soon 
ripened  into  suspicion.  Calumny,  like  death,  loves  a 
shining  mark,  and  the  Deacon's  prominence  in  the  little 
world  of  Greenfield  made  him  a  fitting  target  for  the 
darts  of  slander.  Added  to  this,  was  the  unfortunate 
fact  that  his  professions  of  sanctity  and  humility  had 
been  strongly  negatived  by  the  major  part  of  his  acts, 
and  especially  by  bis  conduct  towards  Hetty  and  her 
orphan  boy.  The  carnal  heart  hates  hypocrisy,  and  no 
community  ever  had  a  keener  instinct  for  its  detection 
than  the  one  in  which  the  Deacon  dwelt.  So  the  mur- 
mur of  the  gossips  soon  rose  to  an  angry  roar,  and  to 
discover  the  whereabouts  of  Hetty's  boy  seemed  to  have 
become  the  chief  business  of  every  resident  of  Cxreen- 
field. 

No   one    had    seen   him   leave  the  meadow;  no  one 
saw  him  pass  along  the  road.     This  was  by  no  means 
strange,  since   the  boy,  terrified  at  the  audacity  of  his 
34 


''WHERE    IS    THY  BROTHER?''  3^ 

act,  apprehensive,  indeed,  of  the  consequences,  fled 
iij^on  the  instant,  with  that  instinct  of  concealment 
which  characterizes  the  shedder  of  blood.  Before  the 
Deacon  had  reached  the  mowers  across  the  field,  the 
boy,  fearing  the  worst,  had  dropped  his  tedding-fork, 
and,  stooping  low  to  avoid  observation,  slipped  away- 
through  the  luxuriant  timothy,  parting  it  before  him 
with  his  hands,  gliding  along  almost  as  deftly  as  the 
serpent  he  had  hunted  could  have  done.  Arrived  at 
the  fence  which  bounded  the  "  twenty-acre  lot,"  he 
sought  a  point  where  a  low-branching  tree  grew  beside 
it,  and,  clambering  on  the  topmost  rail,  peered  through 
the  dense  screen  of  leaves  at  the  group  of  mowers  who 
stood  around  the  discomfited  Deacon.  It  was  evident 
that  the  w^orst  of  his  fears  had  not  been  realized.-  His 
grandfather  was  alive,  and,  from  the  sounds  of  jocular- 
ity which  reached  him,  evidently  not  seriously  injured. 
The  boy  drew  a  long  breath  as  this  fact  became  appar- 
ent, and,  probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  breathed 
a  prayer — of  gratitude  that  he  was  not  a  murderer.  He 
had  been  thinking,  ever  since  he  began  his  flight,  of 
Cain  and  the  mark  set  in  his  forehead,  and  now  rubbed 
his  own  brow  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Then  the  v/elts 
which  his  grandfather's  brutal  blows  had  raised  upon 
his  back  began  to  smart,  and  he  determined  never 
again  to  come  within  reach  of  the  old  man's  arm.  He 
jumped  down  from  the  fence,  set  his  face  to  the  east- 
ward, crossed  the  Pymatuning  on  a  fallen  sycamore, 
and  pushed  on  across  the  lots  and  through  the  woods 
to  the  State  road,  five  miles  away,  which  was  to  be  his 
avenue  to  safety  and  the  world. 


;^6  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

So  his  track  was  lost,  and  no  inquiry  in  the  neigh- 
borhood revealed  any  trace  of  him  from  that  day.  The 
j)opulace  murmured,  and  finally  thundered.  They 
coupled  Deacon  Andrus's  name  with  the  worst  of 
words.  They  said  he  was  a  murderer !  The  old  man 
heard  it,  and  shrank  in  mortal  terror.  Perhaps  con- 
science pricked  him  at  the  last,  and  showed  him  how 
in  thought  at  least  he  had  deserved  the  epithet.  Then 
a  day  came  v/hen  he  was  called  upon  to  account  for 
the  absent  lad. 

It  was  an  angry,  sullen  crowd  that  came  to  demand 
the  boy  Markham  of  his  grandfather.  It  was  no  effer- 
vescent excitement  or  curiosity  which  moved  them, 
neither  were  they  prompted  to  any  great  degree  by  dis- 
like of  the  Deacon,  though  that  was  very  general.  It 
was  a  stern,  resolute  set  of  men,  who  believed  that  a 
great  wrong  had  been  done,  and  they  were  determined 
to  see  that  it  did  not  go  unpunished  if  it  were  so. 
This  was  not  the  first  step  they  had  taken.  On  the 
Saturday  night  before  they  had  met  at  the  office  of  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  who  was  now  with  them,  and  after 
mature  deliberation  had  deputed  certain  of  their  num- 
ber to  make  inquiries  for  the  missing  lad.  On  every 
road  leading  from  the  Deacon's  neighborhood  in  any 
direction,  for  a  distance  of  five  miles  at  least,  careful 
inquiries  had  been  made  at  every  house.  The  State 
road,  bdng  five  miles  to  the  eastward,  in  another  town- 
ship, and  across  the  Pymatuning,  was  not  thought  of, 
it  being  naturally  supposed  that  if  the  boy  were  going 
northward  he  would  take  the  road  he  was  on  or  a 
parallel  one  on  either  side.     They  had  met  that  morn- 


''WHERE   IS    THY  BROTHER?''  ^y 

ing  and  beard  the  reports  of  the  committees  appointed 
to  make  these  inquiries.  The  result  strengthened  ihe 
former  suspicion.  Still,  no  one  would  make  the  neces- 
sary affidavit  and  cause  the  arrest  of  the  suspected 
party.  They  were  a  cautious  but  a  very  determined 
people.  They  gathered  at  the  Deacon's  mostly  in  small 
companies,  and  not  in  a  mob.  There  was  nothing  tur- 
bulent or  boisterous  about  their  proceedings.  Even 
the  Deacon's  swarthy  second  wife  quailed  when  she 
looked  at  the  hundred  or  more  resolute  men  who  sat 
upon  the  fence  or  lounged  about  the  barn  and  stables, 
talking  m  low  tones  before  the  search  began.  They 
were  men  who  were  very  heedful  of  others'  rights,  but 
were  not  to  be  trifled  with  in  the  performance  of  duty. 
The  Deacon  tried  to  talk  with  some  of  the  first  comers, 
for,  though  he  knew  their  errand,  he  would  not  appear 
conscious  of  it,  until  so  many  arrived,  and  their  furtive, 
uneasy  glances  and  restless  movements  made  it  boot- 
less to  assume  ignorance  of  their  purpose.  Then  he 
rose  from  the  roadside  where  he  had  bi^en  sitting,  and, 
haggard  with  horror,  went  into  the  house  and  faced  his 
wife — who  for  once  was  too  greatly  terrified  either  to 
scold  or  weep — in  mute,  questioning  agony,  as  if  he 
half  suspected  her  of  the  crime  vrhich  his  neighbors 
attributed  to  him. 

"What  do  you  suppose  has  become  of  that  boy, 
Rhoda.?"  he  asked,  after  a  while. 

"The  Lord  only  knows,"  she  replied,  adding  a 
cautionary  hypothesis— "if  he  keeps  track  of  such  a 
mean,  sullen  little  scamp  at  all.  I  wish  he'd  never 
come   here.     I  knew  he'd  brinir  trouble  from  the  first, 


38  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

and    now   that    he's   gone   I   hope  he'll  stay,  and  never 
darken  our  doors  again — never!" 

"There  don't  seem  to  be  any  danger  of  that,"  said 
the  Deacon,  sternly. 

"  You  don't  mean — to — say,"  said  the  woman,  chok- 
ingly and  hurriedly — "  there  hain't  nothing  happened 
to  him,  has  there,  Deacon?" 

*' That's  just  what  we  don't  know,"  said  the  Deacon, 
evidently  relieved  by  his  wife's  manner. 

''  Is — a — is — it — about  Iiim  thai;  tlicy  have  come  ?" 
she  asked,  pointing  to  the  neighbors. 

*'I  s'pose  so,"  jerked  the  Deacon  in  reply.  His  sup- 
position was  made  a  certainty  even  as  he  spoke.  The 
justice  of  the  peace,  with  the  constable  and  one  who 
was  evidently  the  moral  leader  of  the  crov/d,  came  up 
the  steps  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  Deacon,  huskily. 
The  committee — for  such  they  were — entered,  and, 
after  a  moment  of  embarrassed  silence,  the  man  v>^ho 
had  entered  first,  to  whom  leadership  seemed  as  natu- 
ral as  his  life,  addressed  the  couple  wdio  stood  befure 
him, 

"Mornin',  Deacon;  mornin'.  Mis'  Andrus,"  with  a 
short  bow  to  each  as  he  spoke.  "Ther  may  as  well 
be  no  misunderstandin',  I  s'pose.  The  Squire  an'  Fred 
Burlingame  an'  I  hev  been  'p'inted  a  committee  by  the 
neighbors  to  say  to  ye  that  they've  come  together  to 
find  out  if  they  can  what's  become  of  the  boy  Mark-, 
ham,  yer  gran 'child  thet's  been  living  with  ye  some 
years  back." 

"  I    s'pose  ye  think  that  I" — the  Deacon  began. 


''WHERE   IS    77/ Y  BROTHER?"  39 

**  Ther  ain't  no  charge  'gin  ye,  Deacon,  so  fur  as 
I'm  aware  on,"  interrupted  the  spokesman.  "1  think 
I'm  right,  Squire  Woods?"  he  added,  as  he  turned 
inquiringly  to  the  justice  of  the  peace. 

"  Ther  ain't  no  charge  made  agin  nobody  up  to 
this  p'int,"  said  that  functionary,  with  the  precision 
which  was  apparently  necessary  to  assert  his  position 
and  dignity.  "The  boy's  missin',  that's  all.  So,  Dea- 
con, I  would  advise  you  to  say  nothing  in  regard  to 
the  matter,  unless,  indeed,  you  know  where  the  boy  is, 
and  can  save  us  farther  trouble  by  producin'  him — 
alive,  that  is,"  he  added,  ominously. 

Then  the  Deacon's  manhood  and  his  conscious  in- 
nocence asserted  themselves.  He  turned  from  his  wife, 
who  had  instinctively  grasped  his  arm,  as  if  to  save 
him  from  some  threatened  danger,  and,  stepping  to 
the  open  door  by  which  the  committee  stood,  he  said, 
loud  enough  for  all  to  hear,  with  head  erect  and  flash- 
ing eyes  : 

"I  don't  say  it's  not  a  heavy  accusation  ye  bring 
agin  me,  neighbors,  by  the  very  fact  of  yer  comin' 
here,  but  I  do  say  if  ye'll  clear  up  the  mystery  about 
that  boy's  disappearance  ye'll  do  me  more  good  than 
any  on  ye'll  ever  git.  from  it  yerselves.  No,  I  ain't 
afraid  to  talk.  I  don't  'lov/  as  I've  allers  done  just 
right  by  the  boy.  Perhaps  I'm  harder  and  closer  than 
I've  any  call  to  be.  But  I  never  harmed  the  boy — 
never — barrin'  some  correction  that  mout  'ave  been  a 
leetle  too  severe.  Me  nor  mine  hain't  anything  to  fear 
from  yer  search,  an'  we'll  do  all  in  our  power  to  help 
ye — that  we  will." 


40  J^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"The  old  man's  pluck  to  the  backbone,"  said  one 
of  the  crowd  to  another,  in  an  undertone. 

Just  at  that  time  Curtis  Field  came  up  the  lane  from 
the  Deacon's  "Number  Two"  pasture,  where  he  had 
been  after  horses.  He  was  riding  one  of  the  span  bare- 
back, leading  the  other  by  the  halter,  and  held  a  measure 
in  one  hand  in  which  he  had  carried  a  few  oats  to  induce 
the  animals  to  be  caught.  Seeing  the  crowd,  he  rode 
up  to  the  house  in  a  brisk  trot,  swinging  his  long  legs 
to  and  fro  on  his  bareback  steed. 

"  Hullo  !"  he  said  ;  "  what's  this .?  One  would  think, 
now,  ther  was  a  weddin'  or  a  funeral  on  hand." 

"We're  jest  come  on  the  search  of  the  Deacon's 
gran'son,"  said  the  Squire,  who  had  come  out  on  the 
porch. 

Curtis  Field  gave  a  long,  contemptuous  whistle. 

"Ain't  ye  goin'  to  help  us,  Curt.''"  asked  the  magis- 
trate. 

"  No,"  replied  Field ;  "  I  hain't  got  no  time  to  waste 
in  sech  foolishness,  and  if  you'll  all  take  my  advice 
you'll  jest  go  home  and  go  ter  gittin'  in  oats.  It's 
good  weather  for  that." 

"  So  'tis,  Curt,"  said  the  one  who  has  been  spoken 
of  as  the  real  leader  of  the  crowed  ;  "  but  we're  not 
going  to  do  that  till  we  know  the  boy's  alive  and  well, 
or  know  what  has  'come  of  him." 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Curt,  decisively,  as  he 
jumped  down  from  his  horse  and  went  up  on  the  porch, 
"  you're  on  a  wrong  scent  entirely.  I  s'pose  ther  ain't 
one  on  ye  but  what '11  allow  that  if  that  ar  boy's  got  a 
friend  on  the  ground  his  name's  Curt  Field  .-^'^ 


*' WHERE  IS    THY  BROTHER?"  41 

"  No  doubt  of  that,"  said  the  spokesman. 

"An'  1  tell  ye^"  said  Field,  "that  boy's  as  safe  an' 
sound  as  any  of  us." 

"You  know  where  he  is,  then?" 

"No,  I  don't;  but  I  know  this:  he  left  the  medder 
that  day  the  Deacon  tuk  to  killin'  snakes,"  said  Curtis, 
with  a  wink  towards  the  doorway  where  the  Deacon 
stood,  "  an'  hain't  been  heard  of  since.  Wal,  now, 
there's  two  things  satisfies  me  he's  come  to  no  harm. 
In  the  first  place,  that  boy's  mightily  given  ter  shiftin'. 
fer  himself.  I've  knowed  him  to  be  missin'  afore,  a 
week  or  more  at  a  time — but  theft  the  dog  was  here. 
Now  the  dog's  gone,  too.  If  anything  had  happened 
to  the  boy  the  dog  would  'ave  been  home  afore  now. 
But  boy  an'  dog's  gone  together;  an'  they're  gone 
to  stay.  I've  no  idea  where.  I've  been  rackin'  my 
brain  to  think  where  he'd  go,  an'  can't  do  it.  But  you 
can  jest  lay  your  life.  Squire,  that  he's  out  of  your 
jurisdiction,  an'  gittin'  furder  this  very  minnit,  or  my 
name  ain't  Curt  Field.  I  heerd  somethin'  of  this 
meetin',"  continued  Field,  "  an'  I  thought  I'd  jest  let 
it  go  on,  so's  the  Deacon  could  see  what  folks  thought 
of  the  way  that  he'd  been  a-treatin'  that  boy.  As  I 
told  you,  he's  a  shifty  boy;  an'  you've  all  heerd  of 
his  hidin'  away  from  the  folks  here  when  things  got 
too  hot  for  him  in  the  house.  I  know  some  on  ye, 
perhaps  the  Deacon,  thought  I  was  helpin'  him,  and 
that  maybe  my  little  house  was  his  hidin '-place.  'Tain't 
so;  but  I  happened  to  find  his  hidin'-place  once, 
an'  as  he's  not  likely  to  want  it  any  more  I'll 
show   it    to    ye;    only    sayin'    that   the   boy's   no   more 


42  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

idee  that  I  know  where  'tis  than  you  hev  of  its  sitooa- 
tion." 

He  stepped  to  the  end  of  the  porch,  put  his  hand 
on  a  small  shelf  which  was  near  the  well,  threw  one 
foot  to  the  top  of  the  big  square  cucumber-pump,  and 
climbed  from  that  to  the  roof  of  the  kitchen  wing  of 
the  house. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Josh,"  he  said,  and  drew  up 
after  him  the  leader  of  the  crowd. 

It  should  be  explained  here  that  the  Deacon's  house 
fronted  to  the  westward,  though  the  most  frequently 
used  entrance  was  on  the  north,  at  a  small  porch  be- 
tween the  main  building  and  the  kitchen  and  dairy, 
which  lay  beyond.  The  house  had  been  small  and 
narrow,  and  inconvenient,  but  the  Deacon's  love  for  his 
first  wife  had  induced  him  to  build,  upon  the  south  side, 
a  wing  designed  for  use  only  as  a  parlor.  This  wing 
was  thrown  back  from  the  front  of  the  building  so  as  to 
admit  of  stepping  upon  the  porch  in  front  of  it  from 
the  side  door  of  the  "living,"  or  "west,"  room,  as  the 
front  room  of  the  original  house  was  indefinitely  called. 
This  left  the  gable  of  thq  new  wing  abutting  on  the 
slope  of  the  roof  of  the  kitchen  wing,  a  sort  of  false 
roof  having  been  laid  in  the  angle  thus  formed,  to  pre- 
vent the  water  from  running  against  the  new  portion. 
The  new  wing  was  somewhat  higher  than  the  old  one, 
and  with  a  steeper  roof,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the 
time  when  it  was  built.  Crossing  to  the  gable  with  his 
companion,  Curtis  Field  began  to  peer  about  the  angle 
just  above  the  cornice,  and  after  a  short  time  moved 
several   of  the   clapboards  of  the   parlor  wing,  so  as   to 


''WHERE   IS    THY  BROTHER?"  ^^ 

make  an  opening  sufficient  for  a  man  to  squeeze  in  with 
difficulty.  Through  this  the  two  men  went,  and,  when 
they  returned,  brought  with  them  the  most  important 
part  of  the  heterogeneous  plunder  which  the  lad  had 
concealed  there. 

"  There,  then  !"  said  Curtis,  as  he  landed  down  from 
the  pump-stock.  "  I  happened  to  surprise  the  little 
feller's  secret  one  mornin'  afore  the  Deacon  was  a-stir- 
rm',  and  I  took  a  fancy  to  him  from  that  minnit.  He 
used  to  hide  there  when  he  was  afraid  of  a  larrupin' 
below  stairs,  you  know,  Deacon  ;  an'  you,  an'  yer  wife, 
too,  took  a  good  bit  of  trouble  tryin'  to  find  out  where 
he  was.  You  never  noticed,  \  suppose,  that  he  never 
runned  away  when  there  was  snow  on  the  ground.  The 
very  thing  that  he  hid  away  from  then,  he's  run  away 
from  now  ;  and  that's  the  Deacon's  whip  an'  his  wife's 
tongue.  I'm  satisfied  he's  safe;  but,  poor  as  I  am,  I'd 
give  twenty-five  dollars  to  know  where  he  is.  I've 
had  thoughts  of  startin'  off  on  a  hunt  fer  him  myself." 

"I'll  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  if  you'll  do  it,  pro- 
vidin'  you  wont  come  back  until  you  find  him  an'  bring 
me  proof  he's  alive." 

"  Deacon,  it's  a  bargain,"  said  Field,  clapping  the 
old  man's  shoulder.  ''  Shell  out  the  money,  an'  I'm  off 
to-morrov.'." 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  the  Deacon  M^ent  into  the 
house  and  returned  with  the  sum  named,  vvhich  he  paid 
into  the  young  man's  hand. 

Then  there  went  up  a  cheer  from  the  crowd,  and, 
.with  strange  inconsistency,  a  special  '*  cheer  for  Deacon 
Andrus."     Nothing  had  been  done  towards  the  object 


44  PIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

of  their  assemblage,  but  somehow  the  crowd  were  satis- 
fied that  they  had  wronged  the  old  man  by  their  sus- 
picion, and  they  took  this  method  of  making  amends, 
and  then  dispersed. 

It  was  in  vain.  He  made  no  acknowledgment  of 
the  apologetic  cheer,  but  turned  back  into  his  house  and 
shut  the  door.  The  iron  had  entered  the  soul  of  the 
hard,  self-righteous  man.  He  had  been  incurably  de- 
graded by  the  suspicion  which  had  been  fastened  upon 
him.  From  that  day  he  shunned  all  men.  He  never 
left  his  farm  and  never  ^vorked  with  any  man  he  had 
employed.  He  ceased  to  attend  church,  and  the  min- 
ister, who  went  to  inquire  the  cause,  was  met  only  with 
horrible  curses.  Strange  tales  were  told  of  the  bru- 
tality and  blasphemous  wickedness  of  his  later  years, 
and  "as  wicked  as  Deke  Andrus"  became  afterwards  a, 
byword  on  the  Pymatuning.  But  none  except  his  own 
family  and  the  cattle  on  whom  he  vented  his  wrath 
could  avouch  anything  as  to  his  temper,  for  he  never 
spoke  to  one  of  his  neighbors  from  that  day. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CURTIS    FIELD. 

CURTIS    FIELD    had    never   known    anything   but 
poverty   and   hardship.     His   father   having   died 
in  his  boyhood,  his  mother,  a  poor  and  feeble  woman, 
had    required    the    proceeds   of  his   labor  until   he  had 
reached  man's  estate,  leaving  him  no  means  of  acquiring 
that  education  v/hich  in  the  region  where  he  dsvelt  was 
considered    the    sine   qua    non   of    success.      Upon    her 
death,    Curtis   had    set    himself  down    to    consider   his 
future  life,  and  had  determined  that  it   was  too  late  for 
him  to  attempt  to  remedy  the  defects  of  his  early  train- 
ing.    To  read  with  difficulty,  write  with  tribulation,  and 
perform    those     rudimentary    operations    of    arithmetic 
which  are  absolutely  essential  to  the  accurate  estimation 
of  values  in  dollars   and    cents,  constituted  the  entire 
stock  of  what  he  would  have  termed  his  "larnin';"  but 
he  was  a  keen,  shrewd  fellow,  who  had  faced  the  world 
bravely    and     cheerfully.       Strong-Hmbed    and    active, 
trained    to    labor,  inured    to    hardships,   he  was  highly 
prized  in  all  that  region  as  one  of  the  best  farm-hands 
that  could  be  found.     Deacon  Andrus,  with  a  keen  eye 
to  the  main  chance,  recognized  his  merits  as  a  laborer; 
and  Curtis,  whose  object  was  to  take  his  brawn  to  the 
best    market,   did  not    hesitate    at    those   exhibitions    of 
penuriousness  and  querulous  dictation  which  made  it  so 

45 


46  FIGS  A  AW    THISTLES. 

difficult  for  the  Deacon  to  obtain  steady  labor.  So  it 
resulted  that  for  several  years  Curtis  -had  worked  for 
the  Deacon,  "  by  the  month,"  as  he  said,  year  in  and 
year  out,  working  more  hours,  subsisting  upon  wor^e 
fare  and  submitting  to  more  fault-fmding  from  his  em- 
ployer, than  any  other  laborer  on  the  Reserve  Vv^ould 
have  endured.  But  in  the  meantime  he  had  not  for- 
gotten his  own  interests.  He  had  exacted  higher  wages 
than  any  one  else  could  get,  for  he  was  worth  it.  He  had 
bought  a  fifty-acre  farm  which  lay  near  the  Deacon's  ; 
when  that  was  paid  for  he  had  purchased  a  horse  and 
buggy ;  and  was  now  regarded  as  a  thrifty  bachelor, 
who  only  required  a  wife  to  enable  him  to  settle  on  his 
own  place  and  prosper.  During  four  years  he  had  been 
the  chief  companion  and  only  confidant  of  the  boy 
Markham.  During  the  last  year  he  had  slept  most  of 
the  time  at  his  own  house,  instead  of  remaining  at  the 
Deacon's,  and  had  attended  to  a  little  stock  which  he 
had  put  on  the  farm  in  addition  to  his  labors  for  his 
employer.  It  v/as  v/ell  understood  that  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  "work  out"  after  that  season.  Very  frequently 
Markham  had  gone  with  him  to  his  house  at  night,  and 
usually  had  spent  the  Sabbath  at  "  Curt's  new  place," 
as  it  was  called.  Between  boy  and  man  a  very  warm 
feeling  had  grown,  up  and  the  latter  had  a  sort  of  Quix- 
otic notion  that  whenever  he  should  find  the  wife  who 
was  to  complete  the  circle  of  his  ov/n  being  he  v/ould 
take  Jvlarkham  to  his  home  and  help  him  as  much  as 
he  could  in  what  he  felt  was  likely  to  be  a  difficult  life. 
Not  a  word  of  this,  hoAvever,  had  he  breathed  to  the  boy. 
To  this  half-home   came  Field  the  nijj;ht  after   he  had 


CURTIS  FIELD.  ^y 

engaged   to  search   for  the  missing  lad,  and  sat  himself 
down  to  mature  his  plan  of  action. 

'*  The  boy  ain't  dead,  that's  certain,"  he  said  to  him- 
self,'' but  where  he's  gone,  or  which  way,  I  don't  see 
how  I'm  ter  find  out.  It's  worse  than  huntin'  needles  in 
a  hay-stack,  that  I've  heerd  tell  on,  'cause  you  can't 
even  say  the  needless  in  the  stack  at  all.  The  boy's  got 
all  out  doors  ter  go,  an'  he  hain't  no  notion  of  stoppin' 
anywhere  nigh  Burrili  Andrus  nor  of  comin'  back 
neither.  Let  me  see.  He's  got  bi^  ideas,  that  boy  has, 
about  eddication  an'  the  like.  His  father  must  have 
been  a  remarkable  man,  though  he  didn't  amount  to 
any  considerable  sum  in  the  long  run.  But,  bless  my 
soul,  tlie  little  feller  could  read  as  well  as  if  he'd  been 
a  m.an  grown  when  he  first  came  to  the  Deacon's.  I  do 
think  I've  larned  more  from  him  than  I  ever  did  afore. 
Now  he's  gone  off  to  make  his  fortin',  an'  he'll  make  it, 
too — at  least  I  hope  he  will.  But  what  I  want  to  know 
now  is,  where  did  he  go?  This  money  I've  got  here 
would  do  him  a  sight  of  good,  if  he  only  had  it,  an'  if 
I  can  find  him  he  shall  have  it,  too.  Let  me  see.  He's 
started  to  go  East  or  West.  There  ain't  but  two  ways 
a  boy  can  go  that  cuts  loose  an'  goes  out  in  the  world 
for  himself,  if  he's  got  any  spunk.  An'  I'm  of  the  no- 
tion that  he'd  be  more  likely  to  go  East  than  West. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  now,  I  never  heerd  him  talk  about 
the  West,  but  he's  asked  me  a  sight  of  questions  about 
the  East,  an,  I've  told  him  a  many  a  lie  about  it  too,  I 
s'pose.  Likely's  not  he'll  find  out  all  about  it  afore 
I  do,  noAv.  He's  put  out  for  the  East,  I'm  most  'sure; 
but  the  trouble  is  to  know  what  road  he'd  take.     He 


48 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


didn't  just  start  off  and  walk  tov/ards  sunrise,  surely. 
He's  got  sense  enough  to  follow  the  beaten  roads,  an* 
if  he  does  that  he's  bound  to  fetch  up  either  at  the  lake 
or  at  Pittsburg ;  and  it's  my  notion  he  started  for  the 
lake,  'cause  he's  been  nigh  about  there  on  the  State 
road  v.'hen  he  went  with  me  to  the  general  muster  last 
year,  an'  he's  asked  me  no  end  of  questions  about  the 
road,  an'  the  boats,  an'  all  them  things,  time  an'  agin, 
when  I've  been  up  to  the  harbor  with  the  Deacon's 
cheese.  He's  been  to  GatesviJle,  on  the  State  road,  and 
never  been  five  miilts  away  from  home  in  any  other 
direction,  so  far  as  I  ever  knew.  That's  his  track. 
He's  struck  the  State  road  and  gone  North  as  far  as 
Gatesville  anyhow.  I'll  go  there,  and  then  begin  to 
inquire." 

The  sun  had  not  risen  the  next  morning  when  Curtis 
Field  started  on  his  hunt  for  the  runaway. 


CHAPTER   VIL 

REXVILLE. 

MIDWAY  between  two  of  the  lake  ports,  which 
were  in  that  day  studded  thick  with  clustering 
masts,  was  set  one  of  those  collections  of  white  houses, 
half  hidden  by  rows  of  sturdy  maples  ranged  along 
the  sidewalks  and  the  thrifty  orchards  in  the  rear, 
which  perch  upon  the  ridge  that  stretches  through  the 


REXVILLE. 


49 


lake  townships.  It  is  not  probable  that  a  sense  of 
beauty  had  anything  to  do  with  the  location  of  the 
little  village ;  but  if  an  artist's  eye  had  been  the  arbi- 
ter, hardly  could  a  more  attractive  situation  have  been 
found  in  all  that  region. 

Just  at  the  point  where  the  somewhat  monotonous 
outline  of  the  inner  ridge  was  cut  by  the  waters  of 
one  of  the  northward-trending  creeks  of  the  region, 
whose  waters  are  here  boisterous  and  rapid,  as  if  they 
yet  chafed  at  the  obstacle  through  which  they  had  cut 
their  way  ages  before,  stood  the  town,  crowning  the 
precipitous  banks  of  shelving  slate  whose  gray -blue 
barrenness  was  only  here  and  there  hidden  by  the 
veil  of  pitying  verdure.  Just  back  of  the -town,  a  wind- 
ing valley  offered  an  outlet  to  the  waters  of  a  little 
tributary  that  sprang  mysteriously  through  the  black 
alluvium  at  the  southern  base  of  the  ridge  and  then 
bustled  noisily  down  to  the  creek,  fretted  with  dams 
and  wheels  through  all  its  brief  journey.  Across  the 
valley  came  the  "angling"  road  which  tapped  the 
artery  of  traffic,  "  the  old  State  road,"  half  a  dozen 
miles  away.  Though  in  sight  of  the  bright  waters  of 
the  lake,  the  town  had  no  port,  and  thereby  both  lost 
the  advantages  and  was  spared  the  evils  which  inva- 
riably attend  the  juncture  of  land  and  water  traffic. 
It  was  to  have  been  laid  out  with  tJiat  severe  attention 
to  rectangularity  which  seems  as  instinctive  with  the 
American  town-builder  as  tree-felling  is  to  the  beaver. 
Fortunately,  the  inequalities  of  the  surface,  united  with 
the  Yankee  instinct  for  the  easiest  ar.  well  as  the  quick- 
est   route    from    one  point  to  another,  hr,d    in    several 


^o  J^IGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

instances  forced  the  rectilinear  prejudice  into  a  com- 
promise, resulting  in  several  agreeable  street  curves, 
which,  though  pleasant  to  the  eye,  were  subjects  of 
mortification  to  the  inhabitants,  and  are  so  unto  this  day. 

In  the  center  of  the  town  was  the  regulation  square 
— just  one  acre,  vrith  a  few  rods  additional  for  good 
measurement — which  the  founder  providently  reserved 
for  public  use,  vv^hether  as  a  muster-field,  for  the  erection 
of  liberty-poles,  the  site  of  a  town-house,  the  location 
of  a  town-pump  cr  hay-scales,  or  as  a  public  park, 
which  in  the  remote  future  should  offer  delectation  to 
the  thousands  who  might  be  domiciled  about  it  when 
the  modest  village  should  develop  into  metropolitan 
proportions,  the  chroniclers  of  that  day  do  not  inform 
us.  Accident  preserved  this  open  space  from  the  usual 
disfigurement  and  transformed  it  into  a  thing  of  beauty. 
It  happened  in  this  wise. 

The  one  great  institution  of  Rexville  vvas  its  Acad- 
emy. As  far  back  as  the  memory  of  its  oldest  inhab- 
itant could  reach,  it  had  been  the  Mount  Atlios  of  that 
region,  to  v/hich  flocked  the  youths  of  all  the  country 
round,  both  male  and  female,  to  learn  the  new  things 
which  were  beyond  the  curriculum  of  the  county  dis- 
trict-school in  those  days,  when  grammar  and  high 
school  were  yet  unknown.  To  this  institution,  rearing 
its  white  cupola  on  the  eastern  border,  the  public 
square  was  an  essential  adjunct.  Here  swarmed  at 
"  recreation  hour"  scores  of  young  men,  engaged  in 
the  healthful  rivalry  of  athletic  games,  and  along  its 
custom-marked  paths  at  evening  loitered,  in  tender 
yet   innocent   flirtation,  couples  who  not   seldom  there 


REXVILLE.  51 

arranged  to  walk  together  the  path  of  life.     The  heart 
of  Rexville  was   in   its  plain,  unpretentious    old  Acad- 
emy, whose  hard  benches  and  baie  walls  were  hallowed 
with  the  ecstatic   light  of  science,  and  whose  crowded 
halls  and  narrow  stairways  were  the  right  royal  road  to 
knowledge    for    many    a    happy    devotee.     Fortunately, 
too,    it    was    the    mainstay    of    the    village    prosperity. 
Room-rent,  board,  lodgings,  the  purchase  of  groceries, 
and  the  absorption  of   dry    goods,  made   the  Academy 
as   dear  to  the    thrifty  burghers    of   Rexville    as  to  the 
hungry  youths  who  flocked  to  it  for  instruction.     That 
they  eventually   killed    their    goose   by  an  over-zealous 
desire   to  obtain  its  eggs  is  no    new    argument    against 
the  theory,  but  only  another  instance  of  the  blindness 
which  so  often  accompanies  undue  greed.     If  the  den- 
izens  of  Rexville  did  not  appreciate  the  Academy,  they 
did  appreciate  the  perquisites  which  attended  its  exist- 
ence;    and   its   Con-imencement   Day  was  the  one  great 
annual   festival   which   no   one   was   too  busy,  too  dull, 
or  too  crabbed  to  attend.     Whatever,  therefore,  threat- 
ened the  prosperity  of  this  institution  stirred  the  town 
even  as  the   preaching   of  Paul   moved   the   Ephesians, 
and  for  the  same  selfish  reasons. 

So  when  it  was  proposed  to  build  a  town-hall  in 
the  center  of  the  public  square,  the  village  rose  m 
arms,  and  angry  protests  rang  from  students,  profes- 
sors, and  grocers,  alike.  When  town-meeting  day  can:c, 
a  tumultuous  crowd  assembled  to  coax,  wheedle,  and 
overawe  the  suburban  sovereigns,  and  it  was  said  that 
some  of  the  students  who  were  fortunate  enough  to 
have    faces    which    had    grown  familiar  with    the    razor 


52  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

did  not  hesitate  at  extension  of  the  truth,  either  as  to 
age  or  residence,  in  order  to  "obtain  the  right"  to  use 
the  elective  franchise  in  order  to  defeat  the  impending 
evil.  This  is  no  doubt  a  mistake,  since  some  of  those 
who  were  thus  accused  are  at  this  very  day  among  the 
stanchest  and  noisiest  advocates  of  electoral  purity  and 
reform — unless,  indeed,  they  learned  by  this  experience 
the  frailty  of  man's  political  nature  and  the  impolicy 
of  fraud. 

The  result  of  their  patriotic  self-sacrifice,  however, 
was  chat  the  village  green  was  saved,  and  the  town- 
house  located  at  its  northern  border,  with  a  street  be- 
tween to  cut  off  its  contamination.  To  celebrate  their 
triumph,  the  students  and  the  villagers  combined  to 
set  on  foot  a  scheme  for  the  permanent  improvement 
of  the  green.  A  civil  engineer  from  a  neighboring  city, 
assisted  by  a  corps  of  enthusiastic  academic  neophytes, 
laid  off  the  square  and  dotted  it  with  stakes,  which  indi- 
cated with  mathematical  accuracy  the  amount  of  cut- 
ting and  filling  required  to  bring  the  surface  to  a  perfect 
gradient  of  the  requisite  number  of  inches  to  the  rod. 
He  made,  too,  an  elegantly-drawn  plan,  full  of  grace- 
fully-curved walks,  with  mounds  and  circles  at  their 
intersections,  and  sprinkled  the  vacant  places  with 
mimic  trees,  which  he  marked  alternately  "Decid."  and 
''Ev'g.,"  as  his  ideas  of  variety  required.  For  this 
labor  he  charged  half-price  only,  as  he  said,  v/hich  the 
students  paid  by  subscription.  The  town  clerk  took 
the  plan  and  hung  it  on  his  office  wall,  and  it  has  ever 
since  been  transferred  religiously  to  his  successors  in 
office  as  one  of  the  muniments  thereof. 


REXVILLE.  ^3 

Then  came  the  long  vacation  of  midsummer,  and 
the  village  boys  used  the  stakes  in  their  moonlight 
games  upon  the  common,  without  regard  to  the  injunc- 
tion "cut"  or  "fill,"  so  that  all  the  landmarks  disap- 
peared. But  in  the  autumn  the  townspeople  made  a 
"  bee,"  with  plows,  harrows,  rollers,  spades,  and  shovels, 
while  students  and  burghers  joined  with  them  in  elect- 
ing the  man  with  the  strongest  voice  to  "boss  the  job;" 
and  when  it  was  completed  they  complacently  declared 
"  that  he  had  hit  a  better  level  with  his  eye  than  the 
engineer  with  his  theodolite.  Then  a  heavy  railing  was 
put  around  the  green,  broad  paths  were  laid  off  from 
corner  to  corner  and  from  side  to  side,  with  a  mound 
and  a  flag-staff  at  the  intersection,  and  the  whole  set 
thickly  with  serried  rows  of  maples.  Here  and  there 
a  balsam  (of  which  an  enterprising  nurseryman  gave  a 
dozen  that  had  been  left  on  his  hands  as  unsalable) 
was  stuck  in  at  the  angles,  where  it  would  be  no  loss 
if  it  died.  And,  finally,  the  whole  was  seeded  with 
herd-grass  and  timothy. 

Everything  lived  and  grew  wonderfully — herd'  and 
timothy,  and  maples  and  balsams.  Time  gnawed  away 
the  fence,  until  now  the  romping  boy  or  the  dreaming 
lover  wanders  unhindered  under  the  clustering  branches 
of  the  mimic  forest — an  emerald  set  in  the  white  heart 
of  Rexville,  wdiich  drones  on,  year  after  year,  uncon- 
scious of  its  own  loveliness. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


1^0  Rexville,  Curtis  Field  traced  the  runaway  boy, 
and  entered  the  place  by  the  ''  angling"  road  which 
crosses  the  little  ravine  behind  the  town.  As  he  came 
to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  saw,  lying  in  the  door  of  a 
large  building  upon  his  right,  the  dog  Tige,  and  knew 
that  his  search  was  ended.  The  building,  which  was  of 
the  dark  drab  color  since  become  as  comm.on  as  it 
then  was  rare,  stood  close  beside  a  tannery,  that  was 
painted  a  glaring  red  ;  the  two  being  the  only  bits  of 
colored  architecture  in  the  town.  The  gray  building 
bore  the  sign  "  A.  Morey  6^  Co.,  Morocco  Factory." 
An  elderly  man  of  stooping  habit,  who  walked  with  the 
quiet  air  which  attends  ownership,  was  just  coming  out 
as  Field  reined  up  his  horse  at  the  door. 

"Good  afternoon,"  said  Curtis;  "can  you  tell  me 
where  to  find  the  owner  of  this  establishment.?" 

"Weil,"  said  the  elderly  man,  looking  up  quickly 
through  his  glasses  with  a  pair  of  grey  eyes  which 
twinkled  keenly  under  his  bushy,  overhanging  brows, 
"I'm  what's  left  of  him.  They  call  me  Morey;  and 
Co.  hasn't  been  seen  in  these  parts  lately.  What  can  I 
do  for  you.?" 

"Wal,  noihin'  worth  mentionin',  Mr.  Morey,"  said 
Field,  laughing  at  the  quaint  introduction  the  old  fellow 
54 


"--/.    MOREY  &-    CO."  r- 

had  given  himself.  "I  jest  thought  I'd  ask  where  you 
got  that  dog?" 

Morey's  head  was  turned  on  one  side  with  a  comical 
leer  as  he  looked  up  at  his  interrogator  and  answered,  in 
true  Yankee  fashion  : 

'*See  here,  Mister,  where  do  you  come  from?" 

"  Why,  what  difference  does  that  make?"  asked  Field, 
\vith  the  air  of  one  who  feels  that  he  is  being  made 
game  of. 

"  Nothing,  stranger,"  said  Morey,  with  the  gravest  of 
faces,  "  only  I  had  a  curiosity  to  know,  as  you  had  to 
learn  where  I  got  that  dog.  But,"  with  the  greatest 
suavity  of  tone,  "  if  you've  got  any  objection  to  lettin' 
it  be  known  where  you're  from,  I'm  sure  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Field  testily.  "You  know  I've  no 
objection  to  tellin',  only  I  didn't  see  as't  made  any  dif- 
ference, no  how.     I'm  from  dov/n  on  the  Pymatuning." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  ^lorey,  in  a  conciliatory  tone, 
''  one  wouldn't  naturally  see  the  pint  of  my  inquiry  at 
first;  but  I'd  'a'  sv%'orn  you  v/ere  from  down  about  Green- 
field before  you  told  me." 

"Why  so?" 

"  That's  the  funny  part  of  it,  Mister.  It's  because 
of  your  inquiry  about  that  dog,"  said  Morey,  seriously. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Field,  "  you  think  he  was  raised  in  that 
region  ?" 

"Raised!  ^Vhat,  that  dog!"  said  Morey,  indig- 
nantly. "  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  couldn't  have  shot 
wider  if  you  had  tried.  That  dog,  my  friend,  was  never 
outside   the  circle  of  hills  you  can  see  from  here,  and  I 


56  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

had  hoped  that  he  never  would  be.  You  see,  sir,"  he 
continued,  with  bland  importance  of  tone  and  a  look  of 
the  utmost  sincerity,  "  I've  had  no  end  of  trouble  about 
dogs.  I  have  to  keep  one.  What  would  a  tannery  of 
any  kind  be  without  a  dog?  More  especially  a  genteel 
kind  of  a  tannery  like  mine — a  morocco  factory,  sir. 
No,  I  have  to  keep  a  dog.  It  would  ruin  my  reputation 
to  be  without  one.  But,  you  see,  just  as  soon  as  I  get 
one,  and  he  has  eaten  up  two  or  three  dozen  hides  for 
me,  and  got  his  own  well  stuffed  with  fat,  some  fellow 
from  down  your  way  comes  along  and  stumps  me  for  a 
trade,  and,  if  I  wont  sell,  just  spirits  my  dog  away.  I 
never  had  a  dog  before  this  one  that  I  could  keep  those 
Pymatuning  fellows  from  stealin'.  No  offence  to  you, 
sir,  but  it's  a  fact.  Now  this  dog  I  had  made  to  order, 
and  have  had  him  nov»',  let  me  see,  thirteen  years  last 
Winter,  and  no  one  hasn't  asked  for  him,  nor  even 
hinted  that  he'd  like  to  have  him,  till  you  did  just  no\v. 
He's  a  remarkable  dog,  sir.  Here,  get  up,  you  brute," 
said  he,  giving  Tige  a  tremendous  kick.  "  Get  up  and 
show  your  pints!" 

Tige  sprang  up,  with  a  yell  of  pam,  ran  across  the 
road  and   stood  looking  at  the  two  men  in  amazement. 

"  Do  you  see,"  said  Morey,  "  how  thin  he  is,  If 
you'll  notice,  he  don't  cast  no  shadow  only  when  he 
stands  endwise  to  the  sunshine.  No  amount  of  feed- 
in'  could  make  that  animal  fat.  It's  in  the  breed,  sir — 
in  the  breed.  Yet  not  entirely  in  the  breed,  either.  It 
took  careful  raisin'  to  bring  up  a  dog  that,  at  thirteen 
years,  should  be  as  nigh  an  apparition  as  that.  For 
three  years,  sir,  we   didn't   feed  that  dog  a  single  thing 


•'.4.    MOREY  vS-    CO:'  57 

but  cornmeal,  ground  cob  and  all,  and  sifted  through  a 
ladder,  mixed  with  oak-tanned  sole-leather  clippins,  cut 
up  fine,  the  whole  stirred  up  in  strong  sumac-liquor 
and  just  parboiled  a  little." 

"Wal,  now,"  said  Field,  who  began  to  appreciate  the 
character  he  had  met,  "if  you  hadn't  told  me  that,  I 
would  have  sworn  that  I  knew  the  dog,  and  that  he  was 
raised  on  the  Pymatuning.  Here,  Tige  !"  snapping  his 
fingers  towards  him. 

The  dog,  recognizing  Field's  voice,  came  forward, 
with  a  sidling,  deprecatory  motion,  wagging  his  hind 
legs  in  his  utter  default  of  tail. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned,"  said  Morey,  in  assumed  sur- 
prise, "  if  I  don't  believe  a  shadow  would  follow  one  of 
you  Pynjatuning  fellows  if  you  should  whistle  to  it. 
Get  out,  you  miserable  cuss,"  he  added,  as  the  dog  came 
crouching  towards  him.  Then  he  picked  up  a  handful 
of  stones  and  threw  at  the  poor  beast  until  he  went  howl- 
ing round  the  corner  of  the  building. 

He  turned  to  Field,  in  a  pleading  manner,  and 
said  : 

"  Stranger,  you  mustn't  ever  try  to  get  that  dog 
away  from  me.  I've  took  so'much  pride  in  him!  Did 
you  notice  his  tail.  Mister?'' 

"Not  exactly,"  answered  Field.  "I  noticed  a  good 
location  for  one,  though." 

"Just  so,  Mister,  just  so.  Now,  you  w^ouldn't  be- 
lieve it,  but  ten  years  ago  that  dog  had  the  finest  tail 
ever  seen  on  a  dog  in  these  streets.  Fact,  sir !  A  red 
fox  would  have  been  proud  of  such  a  fine  brush.  But, 
you  see,  the  style  o{  feed  I  had  to  give  him  to  keep 


58 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES, 


him  thin  didn't  give  much  margin  for  fancy,  fixin's; 
so  the  thing  gradually  shrunk  away,  till  one  m.orning 
it  broke  short  off  when  he  tried  lo  welcome  me  to  the 
shop  with  a  wag  of  his  extrem.ity." 

.  Field  laughed  heartily  at  this  ridiculous  recital,  and, 
getting  down  from  his  buggy,  quietly  tied  his  horse  to 
a  post  near  the  door,  fully  convinced  that  Markham 
Churr  was  at  that  very  instant  in  the  factory,  and  that 
Morey  was  trying  to  put  him  off  the  scent,  or  at  least 
delay  him  until  he  could  give  the  boy  warning  that  he 
was  pursued. 

'*Mr.  Morey,"  said  he,  v/ith  serious  earnestness,  ''I 
want  to  talk  with  you  on  a  matter  which  I  don't  think 
we  shall  differ  much  about  when  we  come  to  a  right 
understanding  of  each  other." 

"  Walk  right  into  the  office,  sir,"  said  Morey — 
"  unless  it's  something  m.ore  about  the  dog.  I  do  all 
my  business  except  dog-trading  in  the  office.  That  I 
always  do  in  the  street." 

They  went  intc  the  office,  and  Morey  listened  to 
the  recital  Field  gave  him  of  Markham's  past  life  with 
the  same  gravity  of  demeanor  which  he  had  main- 
tained during  the  badinage  which  had  passed  out  of 
doors.  When  all  was  told,  Morey  said,  in  a  tone  which 
showed  sincerity  as  evidently  as  his  former  one  had 
betrayed  levity : 

'^  I  am  glad  to  hear  this,  Mr.  Field.  Your  account 
does  not  differ  materially  from  the  one  the  boy  gave 
himself.  It  confirms  my  judgment  that  he  is  a  boy  of 
pluck  and  truth.  I  took  a  fancy  to  him  at  the  very  first. 
And  now  what  do  you  propose  to  do — take  him  back .?" 


".-^.  MONEY  &-  cor  59 

"By  no  means,  unless  he  is  anxious  to  go." 
"  You  need  not  have  any  fear  of  that.  He  says  he 
will  never  go  back,  and,  if  he  is  taken,  will  run  avvay 
again  at  the  first  opportunity.  He  seems  bent  on 
getting  an  education.  Says  he  came  here  because  he 
had  heard  so  much  of  the  Academy,  and  thought  he 
might  get  a  chance  to  work  part  of  the  time  and  go  to 
school  the  rest.  I  thought  it  might  be  the  froth  of 
an  ordinary  runaway,  and  so  hired  him  for  a  small 
sum  a  day  and  put  him  at  the  meanest  and  dirtiest 
work  in  the  shop — taking  half-cured  hides  from  one 
vat  and  spreading  them  in  another.  There's  no  fun 
nor  poetry  in  it,  but  he  has  worked  away  at  the  slimy, 
clammy  mass  with  the  steady,  determined  way  of  one 
that  means  business.  I  had  determined,  if  no  one 
came  for  him,  to  fix  him  up  a  little,  let  him  work  when 
he  could,  and  think  he  was  sending  himself  to  school. 
Of  course  he  can't  half  pay  for  his  feed,  let  alone 
clothes  and  books,  and  I  am  by  no  means  rich,  but  I 
like  him,  and  my  wife  v/ould  dote  on  him  if  her  con- 
science could  be  convinced  that  she  was  not  commit- 
ting larceny  of  some  one  else's  darling,  and  —  well, 
you  know,  I  should  only  have  to  put  a  little  more 
water  in  the  porridge,  anyhow.  They  say  a  boy  is  like 
a  pet  pig — his  living  costs  nothing.  I  don't  know. 
Am  not  blessed  with  any  son  and  heir,  and  raised 
myself." 

Curtis  Field  reached  his  hand  across  the  table, 
and,  in  the  hearty  shake  which  followed,  the  two  men 
came  to  "the  right  understanding"  which  he  had  pre- 
dicted.    He  remained  the  guest  of  Mr.  Morey  for  sev- 


6o  FiGS  AND    THISTLES. 

eral  days ;  and,  when  he  drove  away,  that  shrewd 
observer  remarked  to  his  wife  that  "  he  had  often  met 
with  persons  who  would  lie  to  hide  their  evil  deeds, 
and  sometimes  to  get  credit  for  good  ones,  but  he 
didn't  recollect  having  met  one  before  who  would  lie 
to  give  another  the  benefit  of  his  own  kind  acts." 
And  when  the  good  lady  opened  wide  her  eyes  and 
asked  for  an  explanation,  he  pointed  to  a  roll  of  bills 
in  his  hand,  and  asked  if  she  supposed  old  Deacon 
Andrus  gave  all  that  to  bring  back  the  grandson  he 
hated. 

"Why,  do  you  think  that  rough,  coarse  fellow  took 
part  of  his  own  hard  earnings  and  gave  to  us  to  help 
this  boy,  to  whom  he  is  not  related  at  all  V  she  asked, 
in  surprise. 

"Not  a  doubt  about  it,  Mrs.  Morey,"  he  answered, 
with  his  usual  gravity,  but  more  than  usual  earnest- 
ness. "  That  rough  fellow  is  a  lump  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth — the  real  article,  not  such  as  they  have  in  the 
churches." 

"  Well,  Albert,"  she  said,  with  a  tremulous  smile 
upon  her  lips,  "  can't  we  do  something  in  the  salt 
business,  too  .'*" 

"Hush!  hush!"  said  he,  in  assumed  horror.  "You 
may  do  the  charity  and  religion  for  the  household,  but, 
for  heaven's  sake,  leave  the  joking  to  me.  You  are 
not  cut  out  for  that,  dear." 

Yet  there  was  a  queer  smile  on  the  face  of  this 
strange  man,  and  he  had  much  trouble  to  get  his 
glasses  clear  enough  to  see  through  them  as  he  walked 
over  to  his  office. 


"^.    MO  KEY  &'    cor  6 1 

Curtis  Field's  report  on  his  return  was  a  very  indefi- 
nite one,  but  it  left  the  impression  that  the  errant  lad 
had  shipped  upon  some  craft  which  traded  up  and 
down  the  lakes.  The  proof  which  he  brought  of  hav- 
ing found  the  lost  boy  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  Burrill 
Andrus;  and  those  who  had  been  so  anxious  about 
the  object  of  his  search,  deprived  of  the  zest  of  dis- 
covering crime,  were  amply  satisfied  with  Curtis  Field's 
declaration  of  having  seen  the  lad,  and,  being  a  little 
ashamed  of  what  might  be  considered  ofiiciousness, 
refrained  from  asking  any  questions, 

So  Markham  Churr  was  left  at  peace,  to  make 
himself  a  man,  at  Rexville,  less  than  forty  miles  away 
from  his  birthplace.  And  it  was  not  until  several 
years  later  that  the  rumor  came  back  to  Greenfield 
that  the  young  Churr  who  had  risen  to  be  one  of  the 
brightest  students  of  the  Rexville  Academy  was  the 
barefoot  hero  of  the  black-snake  fight  in  Deacon  An- 
drus's  meadow. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    dreamer's    LEGACY. 

MARKHAM  CHURR  was  in  his  sixteenth  year 
when  Curtis  Field  determined,  as  he  informed 
the  neighbors,  to  test  the  truth  of  this  rumor,  and 
ascertain  whether  or  not  the  young  student  was  indeed 
the    runaway  grandson   of  old    Deacon    Andrus,    who, 


62  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

in  the  meantime,  had  gone  to  his  rest,  with  a  certain 
questionable  odor  of  something  very  unlike  sanctity 
about  his  name,  forgetting  even  in  death  to  make  any 
reparation  for  the  wrong  done  to  Hetty  and  her  -boy. 
For  this  purpose,  Field  declared  his  intention  of  visit- 
ing Rexville  at  the  approaching  Commencement,  and 
personally  inspecting  and  interviewing  the  young  man 
in  question.  It  is  presumable  that  he  did  so  and  was 
quite  satisfied  with  the  result,  since  a  few  days  after- 
wards he  returned  with  a  young  man  in  his  buggy,  wl.o 
was  duly  installed  in  the  front  upper  room  of  Curtis 
Field's  white  story-and-a-half  house,  in  which  room 
were  sacredly  kept  the  somewhat  heterogeneous  relics 
taken  from  Markham  Churr's  secret  den  in  his  grand- 
father's garret  years  before.  Besides  this,  Curtis,  on 
his  arrival,  introduced  the  young  man  to  his  wife  (for 
it  had  seemed  impossible  that  both  of  the  good  couple 
should  leave  the  dairy  in  the  li eight  of  the  milk  season 
to  go  to  Rexville)  as  "our  Markham,"  with  a  certain 
undertone  of  o\vnership  and  pride  which  betokened 
that  he  had  not  lost  the  feeling  which  he  had  mani- 
fested toward  the  snake-hunting  boy  in  Deacon  An- 
drus's  meadow  when  he  declared  that  he  wished  he 
was  his  owm  son ;  though  since  that  time  the  good 
fellow  had  received  such  a  quiver- full  of  the  poor 
man's  blessings  that,  with  his  slender  means,  he  was 
not  likely  to  feel  that  envious  desire  in  future. 

"Dear,  dear,  hov/  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  I've 
heard  Mr.  Field  talk  about  you  so  much  thut  you 
really  seem  like  one  of  the  family.  I  hope  you'll  fmd 
it  homelike  with  us,"  was  the  good  wife's  greeting. 


THE   DREAMER'S  LEGACY.  63 

This  kindly  welcome  the  good  woman  enforced  by- 
setting  before  the  hungry  pair  a  supper  of  fresh  ham 
and  eggs,  light,  creamy  biscuits,  and  fragrant  coffee, 
with  a  lavish  supply  of  milk  and  honey — all  served  by 
herself  with  a  heartiness  which  is  known  only  when 
the  hostess  has  prepared  the  viands.  When  Curtis 
Field  had  praised  the  supper,  both  in  word  and  deed, 
he  reverted  to  the  subject  of  which  his  mind  v/as  full. 

"  I  tell  ye  what.  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  was  sorry  ye 
didn't  go  to  Rexville,  just  to  hear  our  Markhara  speak 
in  the  grove.  I'd  'a'  been  willin'  to  'a'  lost  the 
cheese  far  a  week,  slick  and  clean,  just  to  'a'  had 
you  there." 

"But  then  the  cows  would  have  dried  up,  Curt,  if 
I  had  not  stayed  to  'tend  to  them,"  said  his  wife, 
reproachfully. 

"  So  they  would,"  he  answered,  laughing.  "  But  I 
tell  you,  it  was  grand.  To  start  with,  it's  jest  about 
the  finest  maple-grove  you  ever  see — about  half  a  m.ile 
from  town.  In  one  place  four  trees  stand  in  a  sort  of 
a  square,  as  if  they'd  been  put  there  a-purpose,  with 
oiie  or  two  smaller  ones  on  the  south  an'  west  sides, 
pat  there,  I  cal'late,  to  stop  what  little  sunshine 
might  slip  under  the  shaggy  heads  of  the  big  ones. 
Right  atwixt  them  trees  they  had  fixed  up  a  platform, 
with  seats,  an'  a  table,  an'  a  silver  pitcher,  an'  bo- 
quets,  an' a  carpet;  an' the  great  old  gray  tree-trunks 
was  almost  hid  for  twenty  feet  or  so  with  wreaths  of 
roses.  Over  the  platform,  too,  was  one  big  wreath  of 
roses'  an'  pinks,  an'  I  don't  know  what  else,  held  by 
ropes  all  hid  in   flowers,  an'  bigger  than  a  wagon-vv^heel, 


64 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


right  above  the  middle  on't.  Every  one  had  to  stand 
under  this  v/hen  he  said  his  piece  to  the  folks  that 
sot  on  the  benches  m  front.  An'  there  v/as  lots  of 
'em;  not  less  than  a  thousand,  I'll  bet.  An'  the  girls 
read,  an'  the  boys  spoke,  an'  the  band  played,  an'  the 
Professor  he  sot  on  tlie  platform  as  big  as  a  captain 
on  muster-day,  as  if  he  was  pro  ad  on  'em  all  an' 
knowed  they  was  proud  o'  him — as  they  oughter  be. 
I  tell  ye  it  was  grand !  But  Markham,  he  spoke  last 
and  beat  'em  all." 

"Now,  Mr.  Field!"  put  in  the  returned  runaway 
bashfully. 

"That's  what  everybody  'lowed,  an'  you  mustn't  go 
to  settin'  up  agin'  such  a  jedgment  as  that,"  said  Field, 
gleefully. 

A  week  of  aimless  indolence,  and  Markham  Churr 
was  both  rested  and  restive.  Field  noticed  it.  One 
Sunday  afternoon  he  came  up  into  the  best  chamber, 
where  the  boy  sat  gazing  moodily  at  the  glorified  West, 
and,  entering  into  his  thoughts,  asked  : 

"Wal,  what  do  ye  mean  to  do  now?" 

"I  don't  know.  Anything  to  get  money  to  take  me 
through  college." 

"How  much'll  ye  need  to  do  that.?" 

"  The  Professor  says  a  thousand  dollars  will  do  it 
if  a  young  man  is  prudent  and  works  during  his  vaca^ 
tions." 

"An'  how  long  will  it  take.?" 

"Four  years." 

"Four  years,  an'  a  thousand  dollars  !  It's  a  big  job 
— that  is  a  big  price,  boy  !"  said  Field,  seriously. 


,TnE   DREAMER'S  LEGACY.  65 

"I  know  it,  sir,"  with  equal  seriousness. 

"Will  it  pay?"  keenly. 

"Yes,"  decidedly. 

"  Then  that  is  settled.  The  only  question  is,  now, 
how  to  do  it.     Have  you  any  plan  .?" 

"  Nothing  but  the  usual  one.  Teach  awhile  to  get 
money  enough  to  pay  for  being  taught  another  while." 

"Turn  an'   turn   about,  eh  .?     Well,  that   must    be   a^ 
hard  way  an'  a  slow  road,  though  it  may  be  a  sure  one. 
If  I  had  the  money  you  should  take  a  shorter  one." 

"  Oh  !  Mr.   Field,"  began  Markham,  deprecatingiy. 

"  Never  mind,"  interrupted  the  kind-hearted  man, 
"  I  havn't  got  it,  and  if  I  had  I  'spose  I'd  have  to  lay  it 
out  on  these  little  Fields,  which  will  likely  need  a  good 
deal  of  cultivation  before  they  are  of  any  'count." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  silence 

"  Do  you  remember  your  father,  Markham  V* 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  boy,  dreamily. 

Field  fidgeted  a  moment,  and  then  asked: 

"  Queer  man,  wasn't  he  V 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  the  lad,  half  pettishly.  "Why 
do  you  ask  me  .'*" 

"Wal  now,  you  mustn't  think  hard  of  me,  but  sence 
we  fixed  the  room  up  here  for  you  I've  been  a  comin' 
up  here  sometimes  at  night  after  the  milkin'  was  done 
and  thinkin'  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  have  you  here 
as  you  are  now.  An'  while  I've  been  sittin'  here  I  got 
to  lookin'  at  this  here  sort  of  a  machine  which  was 
found  up  in  yer  old  garret-loft  at  Deacon  Andrus's. 
I  'lowed  it  was  made  by  yer  father,  it's  all  so  neat  and 
precise."  said  Field,  taking  the  model  from  the  corner. 


66  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

"Yes  it  was,"  said  Markham,  interestedly.  "I  had 
almost  forgotten  it." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  what  it  was  meant  to  do  ?" 
queried  Field. 

Then  Markham  told  him  what  his  father  had  said 
the  night  before  he  died,  and  drew  forth  the  little  locket, 
which  he  had  kept  hidden  in  a  tin-box  with  other  boy- 
^ish  treasures.  They  loosed  the  many  careful  wrappings 
in  which  the  dead  hand  had  placed  the  one  little  piece 
which  was  necessary  to  complete  the  mxachine.  Then 
Markham  studied  the  model  awhile  and  showed  the 
place  where  it  was  to  go.  But  yet  they  could  not  see 
its  operation. 

"What  did  you  say  it  was  to  do?"  asked  Field, 
when  he  had  again  studied  the  m.odel  to  find  out  the 
secret  of  its  design. 

"To  turn  axe-handles  and  other  irregular  surfaces,  I 
remember  he  said,"  replied  Markham,  "and  see,"  he 
added,  suddenly,  "  this  piece  which  he  gave  me  is  shaped 
like  an  axe-helve !" 

"So  it  IS,"  said  Field.  "Looks  as  if  it  might  be 
one  in  miniature." 

"That's  it,  that's  it!"  cried  the  boy.  "It's  one  in 
miniature.  It's  a  pattern.  Here  are  the  cutters,  you 
see,  in  this  little  wheel  that  is  fixed  on  one  end  of  this 
lever  which  presses  against  the  pattern  and  is  moved 
along,  little  by  little,  the  whole  length  of  it  by  this 
weight !" 

"  That  would  seem  to  be  it,"  said  Field,  fallowing  the 
explanation  given  by  the  boy.  "  I  don't  know  nothin' 
about    machines,   but    I    don't    see  why   that    shouldn't 


THE   DREAMER'S  LEGACY.  67 

work,  only  I  can't  see  hovv'  the  wheels  are  to  be  made  to 
turn." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Markham,  rubbing  his  forehead. 
"There's  something  gone,  something  lacking  about  tVre 
machine.  I  kept  it  in  my  garret,  and  used  to  look  at  it 
a  great  deal,  both  because  of  what  Father  said  and  be- 
cause I  had  watched  him  work  at  it  so  long  that  it 
seemed  to  bring  him  back  to  me  better  than  anything 
else.  And  I  remember  I  u?ed  to  turn  all  these  wheels 
and  make  them  hum  like  a  top  by  turning  something 
like  a  wheel,  or  a  crank,  or  something — I  don't  remem- 
ber what !" 

The  boy  took  the  model,  set  it  upon  the  stand  be- 
fore him  and  studied  it  intently.  Field  stole  out  and 
left  him.  He  had  hopes  that  the  boy  might  remember 
or  discover  the  secret,  and  that  it  might  prove  valuable 
to  help  him  to  a  start  in  life. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  came  downstairs 
and  knocked  at  the  bed-room  door  of  the  couple  who 
claimed  him  as  their  boy,  with  his  dead  father's  legacy 
in  his  hand. 

"See,  Mr.  Field,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  have  found 
what  was  the  matter.  There  was  a  band  to  go  over 
this  long  cylinder  and  around  that  wheel;  then  when  the 
cylinder  is  turned  the  whole  machine  moves — so."  He 
set  it  on  the  bed  and  showed  its  workings  to  the  won- 
dering couple,' who  hoped  great  things  from  it. 

And  their  hope  was  not  in  vain.  Five  hundred  dol- 
lars, clear  of  fees  and  expenses,  was  reported  as  its  cash 
value  by  the  lawyer  in  whose  hands  the  model  was  put 
for  patent   and   sale.     That  was  all  that  one  of  the  most 


68  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

beautiful  and  useful  of  inventions  brought  the  child  of 
the  inventor;  but  none  the  less  was  the  father's  legacy 
a  fortune  to  the  child  for  whom  he  wrought  in  the  very- 
hour  of  death.  It  was  not  much,  but  with  kind  friends 
and  health,  and  the  determined  energy  v/hich  Deacon 
Andrus  had  unwittingly  transmitted  to  his  grandson, 
poor  Jacob  Churr's  dying  gift  went  a  long  way  towards 
fitting  "Hetty's  boy"  for  the  struggle  of  life. 


CH AFTER   X, 

SWORN    AND    SENT. 

THE  District  Court,  sitting  at  Lanesville,  the  county 
seat  of  Beaver  County,  had  appointed  three  repu- 
table practitioners,  according  to  the  requirements  of 
the  statute  in  such  cases  made  and  provided,  to  repre- 
sent its  power  and  dignity  in  the  examination  of  appli- 
cants for  license  to  practice  law  within  its  jurisdiction. 
The  appointment  had  been  made  with  no  little  appear- 
ance of  solemnity,  the  aged  judge  who  presided  having 
remarked  while  so  doing  that  "it  was  becoming  year 
by  year  more  necessary  to  raise  the  standard  of  excel- 
lence in  order  to  preserve  the  traditional  supremacy  of 
the  profession  in  learning,  as  well  as  to  secure  for  the 
clientage  who  might  employ  them  men  who  would 
devote   to    the    assertion   of  their   rights   such  studious 


SJVOAW  AND   SENT. 


69 


care  and  persevering  investigation  as  the  improved 
machinery  of  the  law  and  the  abundance  and  accessi- 
bility of  literary  aids  render  possible  and  necessary  in 
these  enlightened  days."  In  order  to  secure  the  most 
rigid  scrutiny  of  the  fitness  of  the  various  applicants, 
the  judge  announced  that  he  had  selected  practitioners 
only  who  had  no  students  or  relatives  applying  for 
admission.  Then  he  called  attention  to  the  require- 
ments of  the  statute,  cautioning  the  committee  that 
they  represented  the  Court  in  the  performance  of  this 
duty,  and  directed  an  adjournment  until  the  following 
day. 

While  the  crowd  disperses — witnesses,  parties,  and 
jurors  wondering  why  nothing  is  to  be  done  on  the 
first  day  of  the  term,  the  lav^^yers  exchanging  greetings, 
giving  notices  of  motions,  hinting  at  compromises, 
obtaining  papers  from  the  clerk,  and  preparing  for  the 
days  and  nights  of  exhaustive  work  which  lies  before 
them — let  us  examine  the  examiners.  There  were  three 
of  them. 

The  elder  was  "  Lawyer"  Latham,  of  Saxipahaw,  as 
he  was  invariably  called  among  the  people,  in  utter 
disregard  of  the  "  Sidney"  which  had  been  intended  to 
distinguish  him  from  other  members  of  the  parent  stock. 
He  was  a  man  of  wonderfully  commanding  and  attract- 
ive appearance.  His  fine,  shapely  head  was  covered 
with  a  grizzly  mane  which  curled  in  rank  profusion 
from  nape  to  brow.  His  great  brown  eyes,  rolling  in 
liquid  light,  were  surcharged  either  with  the  gayety  of 
rollicking  humor,  the  glare  of  withering  sarcasm,  or 
the   bathos    of    welling    tears,    as    his    occasion    might 


70 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


require.  A.  broad,  full  brow;  a  face  sallov/  and  dark, 
with  deep  lines  carved  about  the  mobile  mouth,  and 
crows'-feet  gathering  under  the  eyes;  a  tall,  lithe  figure, 
stooping  in  the  shoulders,  with  a  hand  thrust  habitu- 
ally into  the  opening  of  the  vest,  completed  the  picture 
of  the  great  criminal  lawyer  of  the  State. 

Next  noticed  would  be — though  he  was  the  first 
named  upon  the  committee,  and,  by  virtue  of  such  pre- 
cedence, was  its  chairman — Boaz  Woodley,  of  Lanes- 
viiie.  Unlike  his  distinguished  coadjutor,  his  profession 
had  not  swallowed  up)  his  personality,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, his  personality  had  overridden  and  half  hidden 
his  profession.  He  was  known  to  all  in  the  county 
where  he  resided,  and  in  many  another  county  around, 
not  as  "  Lav\'yer"  Woodley,  nor  ''Mr,"  Woodley,  nor  by 
any  other  title  than  Boaz  Woodley.  He  was  of  more 
than  medium  height,  but  so  heavily  framed  that  he 
did  not  seem  tail  until  you  saw  him  standing  with  other 
men,  and  noticed  that  he  overtopped  them  as  he 
glanced  about  him  with  unstooping  erectness.  Hair, 
black  and  close,  covered  a  round,  full  head ;  a  square 
brow  and  massive  jaw  made  a  strong  face,  with  high 
cheek-bones,  and  a  nose  of  obtrusive  solidness;  eyes 
cold,  gray,  impassive,  and  inexpressive  save  of  constant 
r.nd  unshrinking  alertness,  were  overshadowed  and  soft- 
ened or  deepened  in  expression  by  dark,  overhanging 
brov/s.  The  head  rested  squarely  on  the  short,  colum- 
nar neck,  which  rose  between  massive  shoulders  and 
above  a  powerful  chest.  He  was  probably  about  the 
age  of  his  colleague,  somewhere  about  fifty  or  fifty-five, 
but  not  a  hair  was  silvered,  and  the  full,  clean-shaven 


Sll'OJ^N  A. YD    SEN7\  71 

face  was  smooth  and  ruddy  except  where  the  heavy 
beard  gave  the  polished  surface  a  steely-gray  appear- 
ance. No  doubt  he  owed  much  of  his  success  to  his 
powerful  frame ;  for  Boaz  Woodley  had  risen — almost 
after  middle  life,  it  was  said — from  a  country  laborer's 
place  to  the  second,  and,  perhaps,  all  things  considered, 
the  first,  rank  in  a  bar  of  unusual  ability.  He  had  not 
so  full  a  share  of  what  are  deemed  the  honors  of  the 
profession  as  his  senior  colleague.  He  never  made 
men  weep,  and  seldom  made  them  smile.  He  was  not 
given  to  smiling  himself,  and  no  one  ever  thought  it 
possible  that  he  could  weep,  and  he  never  seemed  to 
care  whether  others  smiled  or  wxpt.  He  never  made 
great  speeches.  It  was  said  he  did  not  care  to.  No 
one  doubted  that  he  might  if  he  would ;  but  it  was 
generally  believed  that  he  despised  everything  but  the 
verdict — which  he  generally  secured.  He  v/as  credited, 
too,  with  a  marked  indifference  to  the  means  by  which 
this  end  was  to  be  obtained.  By  the  profession  he  was 
regarded  as  sound,  untiring,  and  dangerous.  As  a  col- 
league he  was  highly  prized  in  a  bad  case  ;  as  an  oppo- 
nent greatly  dreaded  in  a  good  one.  While  Mr.  Latham 
moulded  men,  Boaz  Woodley  moulded  facts.  While 
the  former,  with  infinite  and  learned  subtlety,  sought  a 
path  around  a  legal  objection,  the  latter,  with  a  few 
terse  sentences,  cleft  a  vray  through  it  as  broad  as  the 
king's  highway,  and  so  plain  that  no  judge  could  fail 
to  follow  it.  While  everybody  admired  and  praised 
Mr.  Latham,  every  prudent  client  dreaded  and  retained 
Boaz  Woodley.  He  was  not  counted  a  great  orator 
nor  a  great   lawyer,  but   he   was    great   at   carrying  his 


^2  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

point,  and  no  one  saw  his  name  entered  in  the  docket 
for  the  opposite  party  without  a  feeling  of  doubt  as  to 
the  result,  which  was  not  removed  until  judgment  was 
entered  up  and  the  time  for  taking  an  appeal  had 
expired. 

While  he  had  missed  or  scorned  the  honors,  he  had 
garnered  the  prohts  of  the  profession  in  abundance. 
He  had  always  flouted  the  idea  of  "fees"  in  the  pro- 
fession as  one  worthy  only  of  a  dog  or  a  pauper.  To 
him  every  action  was  a  battle  which  the  parties  fought 
for  a  disputed  kingdom ;  the  attorney  was  not  to  be 
considered  as  the  sworn  stipendiary  of  the  one  or  the 
other,  but  rather  as  an  independent  auxiliary,  whose 
natural  and  proper  inquiry  before  engaging  in  the  strug- 
gle was :  "  How  much  can  this  man  pay  for  aid  to  win 
this  kingdom.^"  Being  once  retained,  however,  he 
fought  as  if  the  battle  were  his  own,  and  even  if  he 
did  not  win,  his  ally  always  felt  that  he  had  earned  his 
money.  Financially,  therefore,  he  bestrode  the  bar 
like  a  Colossus.  He  had  combined  with  his  profession, 
too,  the  business  of  the  speculator.  Lands,  steamboats, 
stocks  in  railway  and  telegraph  lines  had  attracted  his 
desire  and  given  play  to  the  wondrous  activity  of  his 
mind.  His  fame  as  a  capitalist,  had,  perhaps,  outsped 
his  reputation  as  a  lawyer.  He  had  husbanded  his 
powers  too,  and  had  made  his  profession  always  sub- 
servient to  his  interest.  He  had  not  frittered  away  his 
energies  upon  causes  that  did  not  pay.  "  The  offal  is 
for  the  jackal,"  he  would  say,  "the  carcass  for  the  lion." 
So  for  many  3^ears  he  had  only  engaged  in  causes  which 
involved  large   sums  or  valuable  interests,    since    none 


SWORN  AND   SENT.  73 

Others  could  afford  to  pay  for  his  energies.  *'  Lawyer" 
Latham,  with  an  intense  professional  pride,  and  anxious 
for  the  reputation  of  a  leading  practice,  had  regarded 
himself  as  charged  with  a  sort  of  a  public  trust  by  his 
oath  of  office,  which  required  him  to  engage  in  any 
cause  when  offered  a  reasonable  compensation  for  the 
labor  involved.  As  a  consequence,  his  energies  were 
divided  among  many  cases  instead  of  being  devoted  to 
a  few.  No  so  Boaz  Woodley.  Engaging  only  in  suits 
of  the  greatest  importance,  he  was  enabled  to  give  to 
each  that  exhaustive  thoroughness  of  preparation  which 
made  him  the  master  of  every  detail  of  fact  and  every 
possible  question  of  law  which  might  arise  in  its  con- 
duct. As  a  result,  Mr.  Latham  had  conducted  more 
cases,  Boaz  Woodley  had  handled  better  fees.  The 
former  had  a  greater  fame  with  the  populace,  the  latter 
a  higher  esteem  among  wealthy  clients. 

Boaz  Woodley  had  departed  from  the  usu<al  course 
of  the  profession,  also,  in  another  respect — l>e  had  es- 
chewed politics  and  parties.  In  the  heated  struggles 
of  the  fiercest  campaigns  he  took  no  part  and  seemed 
to  take  no  interest.  Even  his  political  preferences  were 
a  matter  of  doubt  among  his  neighbors. 

The  two  senior  examiners  were  clad  in  the  conven- 
tional suit  of  black.  The  third.  Ransom  Fisk,  of  Aychi- 
tula,  was  a  representative  of  a  different  school.  Of  me- 
dium height,  his  brown  beard  and  hair  well-kempt, 
clad  in  an  unostentatious,  close-fitting  cut-away  coat  and 
business  suit,  instead  of  the  more  formal  black ;  quiet, 
alert,  precise,  he  represented  the  modern  office-lawyer, 
careful  of  all   details,  prompt   and    ready,  but    lacking 


74 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


some-\vhat  of  the  meditative  profundity  of  the  older 
school.  He  had  no  such  following  of  those  who  ad- 
mired or  dreaded  as  his  colleagues,  yet  he  had  already 
won  an  honorable  place  in  his  profession.  He  had 
neither  the  powers  nor  the  faults  of  the  others,  but 
everybody  liked  him  and  prophesied  good  and  pleasant 
things  of  him — that  he  would  live  well  and  die  happy, 
at  peace  vrith  man  and  God,  as  the  profession  rarely  is. 
Thus  the  committee  apf^eared  when  the  court-room 
had  been  cleared  save  of  some  stragglers,  a  )^oung 
attorney  or  two,  and  some  thirty  candidates,  who,  in 
obedience  to  a  hint  from  Mr.  Fisk,  had  seated  them- 
selves on  the  foremost  of  the  semi-circular  benches 
surrounding  the  mystic  region  that  they  sought  the 
right  to  enter.  The  Examining  Committee  seated 
themselves  in  front  of  the  judge's  desk,  inside  the  bar, 
Boaz  Woodley  in  the  middle.  Pretty  soon  he  drew 
out  his  watch,  glanced  at  it,  and  then  ran  his  eye  along 
the  circle  of  candidates ;  then  he  turned  to  the  right, 
and  whispered  to  his  elder  colleague,  who  rolled  his 
great  brown  eyes  towards  hini,  and  nodded  carelessly. 
Then  he  turned  to  his  colleague  on  the  left  and  spoke 
to  him  in  an  undertone.  The  young  lawyer's  hand 
went  to  his  fob  instantly ;  he  drew  forth  his  watch, 
looked  at  it  quickly,  and  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 
Then  Woodley  turned  again  to  his  elder  colleague  and 
gestured  with  his  left  hand  towards  the  class.  Tne 
great  orator  shook  his  head  lazily  and  gestured  with  the 
same  member  suggestively  towards  his  colleague.  The 
capitalist  shook  his  head  deprecatingly,  and  again  waved 
his  colleague  forward,  but  less  strenuously  than  before. 


SIVORN  AXD   SENT.  75 

Answered  by  another  careless  nod,  he  at  length  turned 
towards  the  row  of  waiting  victims,  henimed  very  em- 
phatically, rubbed  his  left  hand  across  his  broad,  hard 
chin,  scrutinized  each  applicant  individually,  frowned 
at  them  collectively,  and  began  : 

"Young  gentlemen — Brothers  Latham  and  Fisk,  with 
myself,  have  been  appointed  by  the   Honorable  Court 
to  inquire  into  your  fitness  to  be  admitted  to  the  prac- 
tice of  the  law.     I  had  hoped  Brother  Latham  would 
have   taken   the   initiative   in   this  examination — a  duty 
which    he  is    much    more    capable    of  performing  than 
myself.     He — like    the    most    of  you,    I    presume — had 
the  advantage  of  schools  and  college.     The  only  acad- 
emy I   ever  knew  was  a  log  schoolhouse  and  a  hickory 
fire.     I  suppose  that  if  as  much  had  been  required  of 
an   applicant  for  admission   to  the  bar  then  as  now,  I 
should  have  been  chopping  cord-wood  in  West  Beaver 
yet.     But  the  law  ought  to  be  stricter  now  than  in  those 
days,  for  it  gives  greater  opportunities.     Schoolhouses 
are  as  plenty  now  as  log-heaps  were  in  my  youth.     So 
the  statute  has  provided  that  no  one  shall  be  admitted 
without   having    studied    two  years    in   the   office  of  a 
practising  attorney,  unless   he    shall   be  a  graduate   of 
some    college,    in   which    case    the    law    considers    one 
year's  study  or  service  in  an  attorney's  office  sufficient 
to   permit    application   for   license.     In    addition,  it   is 
required   that    you  should  be  bona  fide  citizens  of  the 
State,  and  that  you  should  have  a  certificate  from  some 
respectable  practitioner  of  your  good  moral  character. 
These  are  the  conditions  precedent  to  examination.     I 
believe  I  have  stated  them  correctly,  Brother  Latham?" 


y6  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

with  an  interrogative  nod,  meant  to  be  courteous, 
towards  his  colleague. 

The  orator  rose,  and,  with  a  tone  and  smile  which 
suggested  a  sneer,  remarked  that  his  Brother  Woodiey 
had  omitted  all  consideration  of  one  class  of  appli- 
cants especially  favored  by  the  law,  to  wit,  those  who 
were  not  only  graduates  of  a  college,  but  also  gradu- 
ates of  an  established  law-school,  chartered  by  this  or 
any  other  State — such  persons  being  allowed  to  apply 
for  examination  on  presentation  of  their  diplomas  and 
certificates  of  character  alone,  without  having  served 
in  an  attorney's  office  at  all. 

To  this  Woodiey  replied,  jocosely,  that  he  had 
omitted  that  class,  whether  from  lapse  of  memory  or 
because  he  had  little  faith  in  college-made  lawyers 
he  would  not  say.  "However,"  he  added,  *' having 
been  appointed  to  examine  such  as  may  apply  after 
having  complied  with  these  legal  prerequisites,  we  will 
now  proceed  to  take  the  names  and  inspect  the  cre- 
dentials of  the  several  applicants..  Will  Brother  Fisk 
take  a  list  of  the  names,  and  will  Brother  Latham 
examine  the  credentials  as  they  are  handed  in  and 
see  that  they  are  in  proper  form.''" 

Then  he  seated  himself,  and  called  upon  the  first 
candidate  upon  the  right  to  come  forward.  The  young 
man  thus  addressed  rose  and  stepped  inside  the  bar, 
stopping  in  front  of  Boaz  Woodiey,  v/ho  inquired : 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"  Markham  Churr." 

"  Your  age  .''" 

"  This  is  my  twenty-first  birthday." 


SIFOAW  A. YD    SENT.  77 

"  Your  residence?" 

"  Rexville,  Beaver  County." 

"  Ah !  a  son  of  Jacob  Churr  who  used  to  live 
down  at  Greenfield,  on  the  Pymatuning?" 

"The  same,  sir." 

"Indeed!  Why,  your  father  and  I  came  together 
from  the  East,  and  chopped  for  old  Randell  the  first 
winter  afterwards.  He  was  a  good  fellow,  your  father. 
Come  and  see  me  when  you  get  through  here.  Your 
certificate  of  character,  now." 

He  opened  the  paper  the  young  man  handed  him 
from  a  bundle  of  others,  and  glanced  at  the  signature. 

"From  Judge  James,  eh?  That  v/ill  do,  won't  it, 
Brother  Latham  ?"  And  he  handed  the  certificate  to 
his  colleague. 

"Did  you  study  with  him?" 

"No,  sir." 

"With  whonr,  then?" 

"  I  have  never  served  in  an  office." 

"Ah!  70U  are  one  of  our  college-made  lawyers, 
then !  I  must  turn  you  over  to  Brother  Latham  to  see 
if  your  papers  will  do."  And  his  gray  eyes  sparkled 
with  gratification  at  this   retort   upon  the  great  orator. 

"  1  am  a  graduate  of  the  University  and  Law- 
School  of ,"  said  the  young  man.     "  Here  are  my 

diplomas,  sir." 

"Give  them  to  Brother  Latham,"  said  Woodlcy, 
pettishly.     "I  know  nothing  about  Latin  or  Choctav/." 

The  orator  winced,  but  took  the  diplomas  and 
examined  them  with  a  show  of  care  which  took  the 
sting  from  his  colleague's  jest. 


78  ^-^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

While  he  was  so  engaged,  Woodley  scrutinized  the 
young  man  keenly,  and  said,  roughly : 

'  "How  does  it  happen  that  ycu  are  a  college  man? 
I  had  no  idea  your  father  left  you  anything  to  squan- 
der in  that  way." 

"He  left  me  very  little,"  said  the  young  man,  flush- 
ing; "but  what  he  did  leave  I  used  for  that  purpose." 

"Ah!  you  take  distinctions  quickly,  1  see.  Some- 
how, your  countenance  seems  familiar.  Have  I  ever 
seen  you  before  V  asked  Woodley. 

"  You  may  have  done  so.  I  used  to  work  about 
Lanesville  sometimes,  during  my  vacations,  while  at  the 
Academy,"  answered  Alarkham,  coolly. 

''Indeed!  For  whom  did  you  work  in  the  town.?" 
asked  Woodley,  v/ith  interest. 

"I  worked  in  your  harvest-field  for  two  seasons," 
was  the  reply. 

"The  dickens  you  did!"  said  Woodley,  as  a  smile 
of  amusement  ran  round  the  class.  "  Well,  I  hope  you 
got  your  pay." 

"  I  certainly  did,  sir." 

"  That  is  the  way  you  pieced  out  what  your  father 
left  you,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Woodley,  thoughtfully. 

"Just  so." 

"  And  perhaps  the  piecing  am.ounted  to  more  than 
the  inheritance,  eh  ?" 

"Quite  likely." 

"  So  I  thought — so  I  thought.  And  you  made  the 
trip,  college  and  law-school  both  V 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Vv^eil,  weiL  I   don't   knew  but  vou   v^^ere   right.     I 


SWOn.V  AND   SENT.  ^g 

did  not  mean  to  ridicule  you.  I've  no  doubt  it  would 
have  been  better  for  me  if  I  bad  done  the  same, 
though  it  does  seem  like  a  waste  of  time.  However, 
I  must  stand  up  for  the  boys  that  have  only  graduated 
from  a  three-legged  stool  in  a  country  office.  I  sup- 
pose I  am  about  the  last  one  at  the  bar  who  Vv-ore  a 
butternut-colored  wampus  and  chopped  vvood  to  make 
potash  for  a  living  in  his  young  days.  It  would  never 
do  for  me  to  go  back  on  them." 

Mr.  Latham  and  Mr.  Fisk  having  concluded  the 
examination  of  his  credentials,  Markham  was  requested 
to  resume  his  seat,  and  the  next  in  order  vras  called 
up.  He  exhibited  no  diplomas,  but  presented  the  cer- 
tificate of  a  well-knov/n  firm  of  practitioners  in  a  neigh- 
boring county  that  he  had  faithfully  served  in  their 
office  as  an  articled  clerk  for  three  years. 

"Ah!"  said  Woodley,  good-humoredly,  " you're  my 
man.  The  backwoods,  feliov/s  are  elbowing  the  college 
gentry  at  the  bar  yet.  I  v/as  half  afraid  the  race  v>'ould 
die  out." 

"No  danger  of  that,"  said  Latham,  "if  they  are  all 
as  tough  as  you." 

Woodley  laughed  pleasantly,  and  responded : 

"Well,  I  do  hold  .ny  own  pretty  w^eil,  Brother  La- 
tham ;  but  I  am  afraid  these  younglings  will  worry  us 
both  into  a  decline.  Suppose  we  report  against  them 
all,  and  save  the  trouble  of  examination  and  our  prac- 
tice at  the  same  time.  V/hat  do  you  -say  to  that, 
Fisk  .?" 

"  How  can  we  reject  them  without  examination  ?" 
answered  Fisk. 


8o  ^J^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

"Just  report/'  said  Latham,  "that  none  of  them 
v/ere  recommended  by  respectable  attorneys.  That 
will  fix  it." 

So,  with  many  a  jest,  after  the  established  custom  of 
that  profession  which  even  poverty  cannot  make  dull 
or  the  fear  of  attachment  for  contempt  restrain  from 
trying  their  wits,  the  preliminaries  proceeded,  and  before 
the  serious  work  of  the  examination  began  an  entente 
cordiale  was  established  between  the  committee  and  the 
candidates  which  tended  very  greatly  to  lighten  both 
the  labor  and  the  tedium  of  the  duty. 

Mr.  Latham  opened  the  examination.  He  began  by 
rapidly  reviewing  the  fundamental  principles  of  law  in 
the  abstract,  general  definitions,  divisions  and  limita- 
tions. He  inquired  as  to  the  location  of  that  indefinite, 
wavering  boundary  which  separates  the  domain  of 
equity  from  the  realm  of  law,  the  causes  of  their  sep- 
aration, the  relations  of  citizens  to  the  sovereign,  and  to 
each  other,  the  different  classes  of  rights,  and  closed  by 
a  brilliant  lecture  upon  a  more  philosophical  classifica- 
tion of  legal  obligations  and  remedies, to  be  based  upon 
duties — the  offices  of  the  civil  law,  instead  of  Rights. 

As  a  display  of  his  own  subtle  powers  and  fine  cul- 
ture, his  examination  was  unrivalled.  As  a  test  of  that 
logical  speculativeness,  the  perfection  of  which  is  essen- 
tial to  the  highest  excellence  at  the  bar,  it  was  equally 
successful.  It  fully  disclosed,  too,  the  comparative 
soundness  of  preparation  in  the  very  elements  of  the 
law  on  the  part  of  the  different  applicants,  showing 
some  to  be  well  grounded  in  that  philosophy  whose 
roots  are    in    the    ancient   Common  Law ;   while    upon 


SIVOJ^N  AND   SENT.  8l 

Others  the  picturesque  ruggedness  of  my  Lord  Coke 
and  the  scholarly  persuasi\cnc3s  of  Blackstonc — the 
St.  Luke  of  our  Common  Law — had  alike  failed  to 
impress  the  principles  they  enunciated. 

Then  Mr.  Latham  sat  down  and  Mr.  Woodley  ex- 
amined the  class  upon  Contracts  and  Commercial  Law, 
Painstaking  accuracy  marked  every  question,  and  the 
slightest  deviation  from  the  venerable  saws  of  the  pro- 
fession was  noted  as  error.  Bills  of  Exchange,  In- 
surance, and  the  Laws  applicable  to  Common  Carriers, 
were  all  passed  in  rapid  but  exhaustive  review ;  and 
then,  as  if  to  show  that  he,  too,  had  pursued  the  more 
recondite  paths  of  the  profession,  he  turned  suddenly 
from  his  course  to  the  Law  of  Wills,  and  from  that  to 
Trusts  and  Trustees.  Though  not  so  brilliant  as  that 
of  his  predecessor,  Mr.  Woodley 's  examination  was 
marked  with  an  accuracy  of  definition  and  conciseness 
of  statement  which  gave  an  unmistakable  key  to  his 
character  as  a  lawyer,  and  revealed  the  secret  of  his 
wonderful  success  at  the  bar. 

Then  Mr.  Fisk  handed  the  record  which  he  had 
been  keeping  to  Mr.  Latham,  and  proceeded  to  examine 
the  class  in  a  kindly,  unpretentious,  but  self-collected 
and  careful  manner  on  Tenures,  and  afterwards  on 
Practice.  Upon  the  latter  he  was  especially  full  and 
minute.  Then  there  was  a  recess,  and  after  that,  Mr. 
Latham  examined   them  upon  Criminal  Law. 

Throughout  the  whole  examination  there  had  been 
the  usual  variety  of  stupidity,  carelessness  and  capacity 
displayed  by  the  various  applicants,  and  after  its  con- 
clusion there  w^as  the  usual  speculation  as  to  the  result 


82  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

by  those  interested.  Despite  his  sarcastic  jesting,  it 
was  generally  believed  that  Markham  Churr  was  a  favor- 
ite with  Boaz  VVoodley. 

The  next  morning,  the  committee  of  examiners, 
through  their  chairman,  reported  to  the  Court  the  re- 
sult of  the  examination,  by  reading  the  names  of  those 
whose  admission  they  recommended,  very  considerately 
stating  that  those  applicants  whose  names  were  not  thus 
announced  were  recommended  to  a  further  course  of 
study. 

When  his  name  was  called,  Markham  Churr  went 
forward  into  the  bar,  his  admission  was  ordered  by  the 
Court,  the  oath  of  office  was  administered  to  him  by  Mr. 
Fisk,  and,  being  sworn,  he  was  sent  forth  duly  author- 
ized to  sign  himself  "Attorney  and  Counselor-at-Law" 
whenever  he  might  choose  to  employ  so  long  a  title. 

"Well,  where  now?"  said  Boaz  Woodley,  as  he  took 
Markham's  hand  in  congratulation. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Markham. 

"  You  have  no  stamping-ground  picked  out  'wherein 
ye  soon  shall  lie,'  as  the  profane  would  say.?" 

"  None." 

"How  long  since  you  left  school.?" 

'^A  month." 

"Ah,  you  need  rest — not  that  you  are  worn,  but  you 
need  to  wait  and  rest  until  you  have  generated  a  new 
purpose.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  and  before  you  pitch 
your  tent  come  and  see  me.     Good-bye." 


CHAPTER   XI, 

AD    INTERIM. 

PREPARATION  was  ended.  The  squire  was  trans- 
formed into  a  knight.  He  was  armed  for  the  con- 
flict, and  had  only  to  seek  his  enemy  and  choose  his 
point  of  attack.  There  was  even  no  need  of  search. 
The  enemy  was  before  him — omnipresent,  without  a 
crevice  that  could  be  spied  in  his  armor — the  great 
fierce  World,  whom  he  must  fight  from  that  day  forth ! 
The  conflict  was  at  hand  for  which  he  had  been  all  his 
life  in  training!  When  should  he  begin.?  On  what  field 
of  vantage  should  he  set  himself  in  battle  array  against 
this  Briarean  monster — this  hungering  giant  that  waited 
for  his  life .? 

He  seemed  faint  and  weary  already,  before  the  battle 
had  begun.  It  was  as  if  the  training  had  been  too  severe, 
as  if  he  had  almost  broken  down  before  the  race.  He 
had  never  spared  himself.  No  toil  had  been  too  hard, 
"no  task  too  menial.  .He  had  succeeded — his  friends 
thought,  wonderfully ;  he  feared,  but  poorly.  What  he 
had  left  undone  seemed  more  important  than  what  lie 
had  accomplished.  He  feared  that  his  life  of  study  had 
unfitted  him  for  the  bold  activity  demanded  by  his  pro- 
fession, that  the  training  he  had  received  in  private 
might  fail  him  when  he  stood  before  the  footlights.  The 
future  was  full    of   doubt    and  uncertainty.     The  time 

83 


84  J^JGS  AND    THISTLES. 

he  had  longed  for  he  dreaded,  now  that  it  was  at 
hand. 

Because  he  did  not  know  whither  he  wished  to  go, 
or  what  he  ought  to  do  at  the  outset,  he  went  back  to 
Rexville,  and  decided  to  open  an  office  there  and  wait 
till  something  should  determine  where  he  should  take 
his  stand  and  pitch  his  life's  battle.  This  was  well  and 
wisely  done.  Rexville  had  been  the  scene  of  his  first 
triumph.  Here  he  was  known  and  remembered  with 
respect.  Here  his  self-love  would  gather  strength,  am- 
bition would  revive,  and  inaction  cure  the  dread  he  had 
of  conflict.  The  human  being  does  not  burst  from  the 
chrysalid  state  as  quickly  as  a  butterfly.  The  change 
from  boy  to  man,  from  hearer  to  orator,  from  learner  to 
doer,  cannot  be  made  in  an  instant. 

For  the  rest,  Rexville  was  as  good  a  place  as  any 
other  for  him  to  become  familiar  with  his  name  upon  a 
sign-board.  So  he  rented  an  office,  neither  imposing 
nor  capacious,  hung  out  his  shingle — a  knightly  shield, 
bearing  his  name  in  golden  letters — a  gallant  challenge 
to  the  world,  from  which  he  had  hidden  away  in  very 
faint-heartedness.  He  knew  that  he  was  facile  princeps 
here,  and  the  knowledge  did  him  good.  He  walked 
back  and  forth  upon  the  village  green,  read  the  name 
upon  the  sign  as  he  passed  the  openings  between  the 
maples,  and  dreamed  of  the  days  when  clients  should 
seek  it  anxiously,  pass  under  it  with  heavy  hearts  and 
purses,  and  depart  lightened  of  both. 

It  vras  a  good  place.  Several  generations  of  the 
newly-fledged  younglings  of  the  bar  had  stopped  and 
rested   awhile    in    that  same  office  before    taking    their 


AD  IXTERIM. 


85 


flight  to  the  Great  West;  stopped,  and  might  have 
stayed,  but  kindly  Nature  had  employed  her  final  argu- 
ment— hunger.  They  left  because  they  must  eat,  and, 
having  nothing  but  what  they  could  earn,  they  were  com- 
pelled to  flee  from  Rexville,  for  it  was  a  common  saying 
through  all  the  country  round  that  no  liquor-seller  or 
lawyer  could  make  his  salt  in  that  town.  Churches  and 
schools  flourished,  farmers  lived,  and  a  few  merchants 
and  mechanics,  but  the  man  of  briefs  and  he  of  bumpers 
faded  away  like  the  men  in  buckram  upon  Gadshill. 
The  legal  gentlemen  said  it  was  because  of  Rexvillian 
stinginess,  and  the  liquor-dealers  inveighed  against  their 
straight-laced  Puritanism  ;  but  the  Rexvillians  them- 
selves cited  the  failure  of  both  classes  as  proof  of  their 
own  uprightness  and  morality. 

In  less  than  a  week  the  cure  came.  Markham  began 
to  dream.  An  image  kept  taking  possession  of  the 
desolate  office,  which  drove  even  the  dreaded  future 
from  his  thoughts.  Years  before,  when  he  had  scarce 
begun  to  climb,  when  he  was  but  a  pupil  in  the  dingy 
Academy  yonder — whose  every  room  was  brightened  in 
his  memory  by  a  sweet  presence — he  had  waited,  day 
by  day,  like  him  who  sat  beside  the  holy  pool  until  the 
angel  came  to  stir  the  waters  of  his  soul.  ^Daily  across 
the  village  green  he  had  seen  her  pass,  and  climb  the 
stiles  which  guarded  it  on  either  side,  with  a  dim  sense 
that  something  godlike  passed  his  way.  His  soul  cried 
out  in  ecstasy,  but  his  lips  were  mute.  It  was  enough, 
in  those  first  days  of  wakened  passion,  to  stand  afar  off, 
worshiping  the  presence  which  was  too  holy  to  be  cov- 
eted by  one  so  low.     That  v/as  all  he  asked — more  than 


86  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

he  claimed — so  much  that  he  felt  almost  a  guiltiness 
sometimes  that  he  should  take  even  that,  unbidden. 

As  years  vrent  on,  his  love  had  grown  until  it  hal- 
lowed all  other  thought.  Ambition,  which  from  boy- 
hood had  controlled  his  acts,  became  a  glass,  wherein  he 
saw  but  the  image  he  adored.  He  v/ould  be  this  or 
that,  utter  this  thought,  or  that  act  perform,  only  that 
her  happiness  and  joy  might  be  the  more  complete. 

Yet  in  all  these  years  he  had  not  spoken — so  he 
said,  and  so  believed.  He  would  not  sully  with  a 
doubt  or  fear  the  future  of  so  dear  a  soul.  He  had 
loved,  and  held  his  peace.  True,  he  had  not  shunned 
her  presence.  Could  a  molh  avoid  the  fatal  flame.? 
He  knew  her,  met  her  often,  sought  her  society.  Nay, 
a  hundred  times  the  words  had  trembled  on  his  lips 
which  shadovv-ed  forth  the  sweet  delirium  of  his 
thoughts,  but  he  had  not  spoken,  and  he  had  sworn 
that  he  vrould  never  speak  until  he  could  look  the 
world  square  in  the  face,  and  offer  equal  battle  with 
its  knightliest  champion. 

That  day  had  come. 

He  wondered  now  if  she  had  read  the  fact  and 
knew  its  full  significance.  He  had  rarely  seen  her 
since  the  old  school-boy  and  school-girl  days  here  in 
Rexville  ;  had  written  to  her  not  at  all,  and  only  now 
and  then  had  sent  her  catalogues  and  programmes — 
those  mile-])Osts  which  mark  the  different  stages  of  the 
student's  journey  through  the  college  and  the  school 
of  his  profession.  Had  she  noted  these,  and  did  she 
know  or  care  that  this  last  ordeal  was  the  end  of  prep- 
aration }     He  knew  that  other  wOishiT)ers  had  crowded 


AD   INTERIM.  87 

at  the  shrine.  He  only  wondered  that  the  world  did 
not  bow  in  adoration  to  the  goddess  of  his  heart.  Had 
she  understood  his  silence,  and  kept  the  fragrance  of 
her  love  so  many  years  for  him?  That  she  was  un- 
married now  was  not  for  want  of  lovers.  That  he 
knew,  and  he  would  hope.  If — he  would  not  contem- 
plate the  reverse !  Light  and  darkness  may  merge  in 
twilight,  but  midnight  and  noonday  cannot  meet. 

One  day,  while  he  v/as  busy  with  such  speculations 
as  these,  his  office  became  close,  dingy,  hateful,  as  his 
heart  beat  out  tlie  story  of  the  past  once  more.  He 
couid  not  stay  within.  He  would  go  out  into  the  sun- 
shine— into  light  and  air.  He  locked  his  office-door 
without  even  glancing  at  his  brave  sign  above,  and 
started  towards  the  lake,  which  lay  dancing  and  spark- 
ling in  the  sunlight  a  mile  away. 

His  eye  caught  the  glint  of  it  as  he  mounted  the 
hill  above  the  village,  and  an  irresistible  longing  came 
into  his  veins  to  renew  his  intimacy  with  it.  He  had 
grown  up,  as  it  were,  upon  the  shore  of  this  noble 
inland  sea.  Its  countenance  was  a  part  of  the  every- 
day life  of  his  youth.  He  had  been  wont  to  foretell 
the  weather  of  to-morrow  by  its  varying  phases.  It 
had  been  at  once  his  playground  and  playmate.  He 
had  rowed,  sailed,  and  swam  on  its  bright  blue  bosom 
in  all  weathers,  and  knev/  its  every  mood.  From  its 
sparkling  waves,  v/hich  chased  each  other  to  the  east- 
ward, with  here  and  there  a  white-cap,  he  knew  even 
at  a  distance  that  one  of  the  first  of  the  brisk  summer 
breezes  which  come  from  some  hidden  Eolian  cave  of 
the  Far  West  was  dancing  laughingly  across  its  waters. 


88  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

The  sight  and  memory  thrilled  him.  He  had  never 
known  how  much  he  loved  this  bright  lake  until  his 
life  had  been  removed  from  its  shore.  Day  after  day 
he  had  longed  for  the  cold,  clear  breath  of  its  winds, 
and  the  heave  and  plash  of  its  waters.  A  thousand 
times  he  had  yearned  for  the  accustomed  plunge  amid 
its  waves,  for  the  swell  of  its  billows  beneath  him,  and 
the  wild  struggle  with  its  forces. 

He  would  go  back  to  it  again,  like  an  errant  boy  to 
an  ever-loving  mother.  He  would  spend  the  day  on 
her  bosom,  and  take  counsel  as  to  what  he  should  do 
regarding  that  other  loved  presence  of  whom  his  heart 
was  full. 

So  he  said  to  himself — knowing  that  he  lied,  as 
the  best  of  us  not  seldom  do  to  ourselves  w^hen  impulse 
and  reason  are  at  odds.  The  truth  was,  that  he  knew 
that  at  Fairbank,  a  few  miles  lower  down,  and  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  cliff  which  overhung  the  lake,  dwelt 
his  queen,  and  he  had  often  proved  that  its  kindly 
waters  offered  the  most  delightful  of  highways  to  her 
feet. 

In  a  few  moments  he  was  at  the  mouth  of  a  little 
creek  where  Avas  a  sort  of  rude  pier,  having  beside  it 
half-a-dozen  small  boats,  kept  chiefly  for  the  pleasure 
of  those  who  might  come  for  a  sail  from  Rexville  or 
the  back  country. 

He  was  soon  seated  in  one  of  these,  provided  with 
fishing-gear,  under  the  pretence  of  trolling  for  bass  as 
he  sailed.  So  he  deceived  the  boatman  as  well  as 
himself.  But  when  he  had  cleared  the  headland  below, 
and  came  upon  the  accustomed  course,  all  thought  of 


An  INTERIM,  8^ 

sport  was  at  an  end.  He  set  the  little  sail,  grasped 
the  tiller,  and  bore  away  before  the  fresh,  soft  breeze 
for  Fairbank — and  Lizzie  Harper ;  for  this  was  the 
name  of  his  divinity. 


CHAPTER  XII, 

DEA    CERTA. 

TO  others,  Lizzie  Harper  was  little  enough  of  a 
divinity.  A  plain  farmer's  daughter,  v\ith  clear 
gray  eyes  of  genuine  depth  and  tenderness,  a  broad 
brow,  and  hair  of  that  soft,  neutral  tint  which  takes 
the  color  of  the  light  it  reflects — golden  in  the  sun- 
shine, in  the  shadow  brown.  A  quiet,  self-contained 
maiden,  who  had  developed  from  the  earnest  school- 
girl into  the  thoughtful  woman.  Without  pride,  there 
was  still  a  certain  queenliness  in  her  manner  which 
attracted  while  it  held  at  bay.  She  had  been  sought 
by  m.any  in  marriage,  as  it  v^^as  generally  believed,  but 
none  seemed  to  have  been  successful  in  winning  her 
affection;  nor  were  any  piqued  by  her  refusal  —  if 
refusal  there  had  been.  As  no  one  seemed  to  be  pre- 
ferred, there  was  no  sense  of  jealousy;  and  her  old 
lovers  simply  swelled  the  train  of  her  friendly  admirers. 
So  that  at  twenty  she  stood  heart-free,  it  was  thought 
among  her  friends;  and,  being  little  given  to  talk  of 
herself,  she  was  regarded  as  one  who  had  either  marked 


^o  J^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

out  a  future  which  had  no  place  in  it  for  a  husband, 
or  one  whose  ambition  looked  higher  than  she  was 
likely  to  attain.  She  was  thought  by  some  to  be  roman- 
tic and  ambitious,  by  others  to  be  practical  and  self- 
sufficient. 

While  Markham  Churr  was  speeding  towards  Fair- 
bank,  Lizzie  Harper  came  out  of  her  father's  house 
alone,  and  strolled  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff  which  over- 
looked the  lake.  Half  way  down  its  sharp  declivity, 
and  almost  inaccessible  because  of  a  gaping  landslide 
above  and  a  beetling  cliff  below  it,  was  a  little  sheltered 
nook,  where  some  drooping  hemlocks,  interspersed 
with  a  witch-hazel  and  a  few  white -armed  birches, 
formed  a  bower  quite  impervious  to  prying  eyes  from 
the  bank  above  or  beach  below. 

This  was  the  Mecca  of  her  pilgrimage.  Arrived  at 
the  bluff,  she  sprang  across  the  chasm  and  bounded 
down  the  narrow  and  untrodden  way  which  led  to  her 
retreat  with  the  unconscious  boldness  of  the  experi- 
enced climber,  and  was  soon  hidden  in  its  sweet  seclu- 
sion. The  fresh  grass  was  thick  and  uncropped  upon 
this  almost  isolated  bit  of  sward,  and  the  later  spring 
flowers  were  yet  in  bloom  under  the  shadow  of  the 
clustering  branches.  She  sank  down  upon  the  green 
carpet,  drew  from  her  pocket  a  county  newspaper,  and 
turned  to  the  announcement  of  Markham  Churr's  ad- 
mission to  the  bar  and  location  in  Rexville.  This  was 
the  key  to  her  life — this  love,  by  others  unsuspected. 

Years  before,  while  a  gay  picnic  party  were  met 
upon  the  broad,  smooth  beach  below,  making  the  sum- 
mer air  vocal  with  their  songs  and  laughter,  Markham 


DEA    CEKTA.  oi 

Chiirr,  with  unwonted  earnestness,  had  asked  her  to  go 
with  him  and  see  a  treasure  he  had  found.  With 
hasty  steps,  he  had  led  her  along  the  narrow  ledge  by 
which  it  was  approached,  and,  lifting  the  hemlock 
bough  with  trembling  hand,  invited  her  to  enter  and 
occupy  this  bower.  She  was  not  deceived  by  his  little 
artifice.  His  love  thrilled  his  tones  and  spoke  in  his 
yearning  gaze.  She  loved  Markham  Churr,  and  be- 
lieved her  love  returned.  So  when  she  passed  under 
his  upraised  arm  and  entered  the  bower  he  had  dis- 
covered, she  did  not  see  the  lake  outspread  at  her 
feet,  but  stood,  with  drooping  eyes  and  flushed  cheek, 
waiting  to  hear  the  expected  words. 

Markham  was  too  much  preoccupied  with  his  own 
passion  and  the  course  fee  had  marked  out  for  himself 
to  notice  this  expectancy  upon  her  part.  He  only 
asked  her  to  sit  down  and  Hsten  to  his  plans — what 
he  wished  and  intended  to  do,  acquire,  and  achieve  in 
the  future.  While  she  sat  before  him  demurely  plait- 
ing grass  and  leaves  now  into  crosses  and  then  into 
crowns,  listening  to  his  bright  dreams,  she  heard,  or 
thought  she  heard,  the  wail  of  imprisoned  love  in  the 
cadences  of  his  story— a  prayer  that  she  would  love 
and  trust  and  wait  till  he  might  come  again,  laden 
with  the  sheaves  whose  harvest  he  was  then  foretelling, 
till  he  could  cast  the  first-fruits  of  his  triumph  at  her 
feet  and  ask  his  reward. 

Whatever  of  love  and  admiration  she  had  not  be- 
stowed before,  he  won  that  day.  A  love  so  true  that 
It  would  not  ask  a  lady's  colors  until  it  had  proved  in 
battle  its  worthiness  to  wear  them ;  a  squire  who  would 


p2  J^IGS  AND    THISTLES, 

not  seek  his  lady's  favor  until  he  could  serve  her  as  a 
belted  knight,  seemed  to  her  so  rare  and  noble  that 
her  soft  eyes  burned  with  unwonted  pride,  and  she 
loved  her  lover  better  that  he  spoke  no  word  of  love. 
She  saw  and  reverenced  the  chivalry  which  forgot  his 
own  present  to  secure  her  future. 

Love  him !  If  she  had  loved  before,  she  thencefor- 
ward worshiped. 

And  when  they  finally  rose  to  rejoin  their  compan- 
ions, the  sun  was  nearing  the  rippling  surface  of  the 
lake,  whose  every  dimpling  wave  reflected  his  glory, 
making  a  golden  pathtvay  from  their  feet  to  his  western 
couch. 

"  See  !"  cried  Markham,  "  the  happy  omen,  a  radiant 
pathway  to  the  brighter  glory  at  the  end !  Will  you  not 
wish  me  success,  I  jzzie  V 

She  glanced  shyly  up,  and  saw  the  eager  love  and 
sturdy  purpose,  which  he  thought  was  unrevealed,  strug- 
gling in  his  changing  features.  His  eyes  were  fastened 
on  the  golden  path  his  fancy  had  likened  to  the  life  he 
desired,  and  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  future 
which  should  be  bright  enough  to  be  worthy  of  her  love. 
She  took  a  step  nearer  to  hira,  but  he  did  not  heed  her 
movement.  So  resolutely  had  he  put  away  his  love  to 
a  more  convenient  season,  that  he  was  then  even  un- 
conscious of  her.  He  had  forgotten  in  his  bright  dream 
both  the  question  he  had  asked  and  the  bright  presence 
by  his  side.  She  bent  nearer  to  him  still.  Her  usually 
calm  face  was  flushed  to  the  temples  now,  and  the  gray 
eyes  burned  with  a  tender  light.  There  was  a  quick 
movement,  a  start  of  surprise,  and  Markham  Churr  had 


DEA    CERTA.  ^^ 

the  memory  of  a  light  kiss  upon  his  brow — while  up 
the  steep  pathway  Lizzie  Harper  fled,  sending  back 
a  low  ripple  of  mellow  laughter  to  the  nonplussed 
dreamer  below.  He  started  to  pursue,  but  turned  back 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  green  sward.  She  paused 
at  the  top  of  the  bluff,  glanced  downward  with  cheeks 
aflame,  and  then  sped  onward  to  the  house  with  a  new 
lovelight  dancing  in  her  eyes. 

From  that  hour  she  felt  herself  betrothed,  dedicated 
with  a  nuptial  more  holy  than  priest  and  altar  could 
bestow — the  bride  of  one  who  had  spoken  no  word  of 
love. 

This  was  all.  The  years  had  come  and  gone,  and 
still  he  had  not  spoken.  She  wondered  now,  as  she  sat 
in  this  Holy  of  Holies  of  her  love,  if  the  time  was 
fully  ripe.  Perhaps — she  may  be  pardoned  if  she  did — 
perhaps  she  wondered  if  her  faith  was  vain. 

There  was  a  movement  of  the  leafy  curtain.  A 
familiar  face  and  form*  appeared. 

"Markham!" 

"Lizzie!" 


"  LizZ(?^^  / — Liz- 


It  was  the  voice  of  her  younger  sister,  calling  her 
from  the  bank  above,  as  the  sun   went  down. 

"  Here,"  was  the  reply  as  she  came  out  of  the  bower, 
and  looked  up  at  her  sister,  her  face  radiant  with  de- 
light. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing  down  there, 
Lizzie.?" 


94  i^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"Come  and  see,"  was  the  reply,  with  low  laughter 
in  her  tones. 

"How  shall  I  get  there?"  asked  the  sister. 

"  Yonder  by  the  chestnut-tree  is  a  narrow  crossing. 
Be  careful !" 

A  moment  more  and  the  young  girl  stood  beside  her 
sister. 

"Come  in,  Nellie,"  said  Lizzie,  in  a  tone  that  made 
her  sister  glance  wonderingly  up.  She  moved  aside  the 
hemlock  curtain  and  they  entered  together. 

"  This  is  Markham  Churr,  Nellie,  who  will  be  your 
brother,  sometime." 

The  courtship  was  over  ;  and  Markham  Churr  walked 
back  to  Fairbank  with  Lizzie  upon  his  arm  and  holding 
Nellie's  hand.  The  child's  willing  hps  soon  made 
known  the  secret  of  her  sister's  past. 


CHAPTER  XI IT, 

JEDUTHON      HARPER. 

JEDUTHON  HARPER  was  a  clear-headed,  practi- 
cal man,  with  a  wide  knowledge  of  men  and  affairs. 
He  had  been  a  successful  manufacturer  at  the  East 
until  about  middle  life,  when  that  universal  crash 
which  passed  over  the  commercial  world  in  1837  swept 
him  down,  and,  after  a  year  or  two  of  hopeless  struggle, 
left  him  utterly  insolvent.  V/ith  a  sturdy  integrity 
which   scorned   the  protection   of  the   statute  of  bank- 


JEDUTIIOX  HARPER. 


95 


ruptcy,  he  surrendered  to  his  creditors  all  that  he  had, 
save  barely  enough  to  take  himself  and  family  to  the 
West  (which  was  then,  as  now,  the  land  of  promise  to 
every  shipwrecked  adventurer  upon  life's  tempestuous 
main),  saying  to  those  he  owed :  "  Whatever  may  be 
due  beyond  this  I  will  pay  if  you  will  give  me  time," 
The  creditors  took  the  business,  put  one  of  their  num- 
ber in  charge  of  it,  and,  by  a  temporary  turn  of  fortune 
which  occurred  soon  after,  recouped  a  considerable 
portion  of  their  loss ;  so  that  when  Jeduthon  Harper 
called,  several  years  afterwards,  for  the  balance  against 
him,  it  was  much  less  than  he  had  anticipated.  This, 
hiOwever,  he  had  paid  to  the  last  dollar.  To  do  so 
had  cost  him  a  terrible  struggle.  A  numerous  family, 
not  accustomed  to  the  rigorous  economy,  almost  priva- 
tion, which  faced  them  in  their  new  home,  constituted 
a  heavy  burthen  to  the  debt-oppressed  man.  He  did 
not,  however,  allow  even  his  love  for  them  to  interfere 
with  what  he  considered  a  sacred  duty.  He  had  man- 
aged to  send  each  of  the  flock  to  the  public  school 
until  its  limited  curriculum  was  exhausted,  and  had 
then  said  that  he  regarded  his  duty  to  them  as  ended 
until  the  other  duty  was  discharged  and  he  had,  in 
addition,  secured  some  competence  for  old  age.  And 
thereupon  each  one  had  gone  out  into  the  w^orld,  cheer- 
fully taking  up  the  burden  of  self-support  which  was 
thus  thrown  upon  them;  the  elder  ones,  as  they  were 
prospered,  contributing  gladly  to  the  support  and 
education  of  the  younger  members  of  the  household. 
A  kind  Providence  had  blessed  them  all  with  unusual 
health ;  and  the  impulse  of  a  common  purpose,  together 


gS  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

with  the  healthy  influence  of  a  high  example,  had  kept 
them  very  closely  united.  The  sons  had  gradually 
drifted  away  into  business  at  different  poinis,  however, 
and  tlie  daughters  had  taught  and  studied  by  turns, 
rising  through  the  various  grades  of  scholarly  excel- 
lence as  they  progressed  in  pedagogic  experience,  until 
one  after  another  dropped  into  matrimony.  At  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  but  three  daughters,  of  whom 
Lizzie  was  the  elder,  remained  in  the  old  house  at 
Fairbank,  which  had  grown  in  beauty  and  value  under 
the  thrifty  care  of  Jeduthon  Harper,  until,  when  Mark- 
ham  Churr  asked  him  for  the  hand  of  his  favorite 
daughter,  he  was  going  easily  and  peacefully  down 
into  the  vale  of  life,  happy  in  the  memory  of  an 
upright  past  and  in  the  love  of  a  venerating  offspring. 
This  man  was  not  one  to  discourage,  the  addresses  of 
a  worthy  suitor  because  of  lack  of  wealth.  He  had 
known  Markham  Churr,  at  least  by  repute,  for  many 
years,  during  which  some  of  his  children  had  always 
been  students  at  the  Academy,  where  Markham  was 
either  grappling  with  poverty  and  ignorance  at  once  or 
was  remembered  as  a  student  who  had  overcome  all 
difficulties  and  reflected  credit  on  the  institution.  Jed- 
uthon Harper  regarded  the  manhood  thus  displayed  as 
a  far  more  secure  guarantee  for  his  daughter's  happi- 
ness than  the ,  inherited  fruits  of  another's  manhood 
would  have  been,  and  frankly  expressed  his  approval 
of  her  choice. 

While,  he  said,  he  could  give  his  daughter  no  dowry, 
he  was  proud  to  say  that  she  had  shown  those  powers 
of  self-support  which  would  render  her  a  helpmeet  to 


JEDUTHON  HARPER.  97 

any  man  who  might  join  her  life  to  his.  He  thought 
that  the  young  couple  might  safely  trust  to  their  united 
exertions  for  the  future.  At  the  same  time,  he  advised 
that  they  should  not  marry  until  Markham  had  fixed 
upon  a  location  for  the  practice  of  his  profession,  and 
had  pursued  it  long  enough  to  render  it  probable  that 
it  would  yield  a  moderate  support.  In  the  meantime, 
his  daughter  could  continue  teaching,  as  she  had  done 
before,  and  he  hoped  that  Markham  would"  spend  as 
much  of  his  time  with  them  as  possible,  until  his 
business  should  call  him  elsewhere. 

With  this  blessing  on  their  love,  the  days  flew  by 
unheeded,  until  Markham  felt  impelled,  from  very 
shame  at  his  own  remissness,  to  return  to  Rexville  and 
his  office.  It  was  possible  that  a  client  might  have 
come  in  those  few  Elysian  days  of  his  absence.  Already 
the  sense  of  lassitude  and  distrust  which  had  before 
oppressed  him  was  dissipated.  Instead  of  dreading  the 
future  and  shrinking  from  the  world,  he  was  now  pant- 
ing for  the  fray.  Instead  of  waiting  for  an  opportunity, 
he  burned  to  make  one.  He  was  ready  to  fly  at  the 
throat  of  the  world  and  make  it  his  prey,  with  no  more 
fear  of  failure  than  the  hungry  jaguar  feels  when  he 
springs  on  an  unconscious  buffalo.  He  would  search 
the  Great  West  through  to  find  the  vulnerable  spot. 
Ah!  Love  is  a  wonderful  tonic.  He  felt  so  strong  and 
eager  as  he  started  back  to  Rexville  that  he  could  not 
wait  for  the  lazy  summer  breeze  to  waft  him  easily  to 
his  destination,  but  seized  the  oars  and  sped  westward 
in  the  cool  morning,  with  his  gaze  riveted  upon  a  fair 
form  which  stood^utlined  against  the  eastern  sky  until 


98  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

hidden  by  an  intervening  headland.  The  Star  of  Am- 
bition as  well  as  of  Empire  takes  its  course  to  the  West- 
ward, but  the  star  of  Hope  is  ever  in  the  East. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

FROM    LOVE    TO    LARCENY. 

"TJAVE  you  heard  the  news.?"  was  the  first  word  of 
1  1-  greeting  he  heard  as  he  drove  his  boat  beside 
the  little  pier  from  which  he  had  set  forth. 

"  No,"  with  a  sort  of  wonder,  which  he  had  never 
felt  before,  that  there  could  be  anything  new  in  or 
about  the  vicinage  of  Rexville.     "What  is  it?" 

"The  Bank  of  Aychitula  was  robbed  last  night!" 

"Indeed!"  with  a  throb  of  pleasure  at  his  heart, 
instead  of  pain  and  horror.  Here  was  the  "World  com- 
ing to  his  very  doors.  Robbed  !  The  forceful,  the  un- 
usual, was  at  his  hand.  It  was  like  the  trumpet-call 
to  the  soldier  dreaming  of  glory,  or  the  welcome  shout, 
"The  sea!  The  sea]'*  to  the  stragglers  of  Xenophen's 
dispirited  host. 

He  could  learn  no  particulars.  Robbed  !  That  was 
all.  How  1  How  much  }  By  whom  }  Not  a  word  in 
answer  to  these  questions.  It  was  nothing  to  him.  He 
had  no  deposits  there  nor  in  any  other  bank,  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  grimly  wondered  at  the  burning  desire 
he  felt  to  know  all  about  the  crime.  Every  bank  in  the 
country  might    be   robbed   of  every  cent   in   its   coffers 


FROM  LOVE    TO  LARCENY.  gg 

and  Markham  Churr  suffer  no  loss.  Nevertheless,  he 
could  not  rest  until  he  knew  all  that  could  be  learned 
of  the  occurrence.  Aychitula  was  but  five  miles  away. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  tired,  though  he  had  thought 
that  he  was,  a  moment  before.  If  he  were,  the  wind 
was  rising  and  was  easterly.  Occasion  joined  with  in- 
clination, and  in  five  minutes  he  was  dashing  over  the 
rollicking  waves  towards  Aychitula,  a  knight  in  search 
of  his  first  dragon  ! 

Aychitula  was  one  of  those  small  towns,  common 
in  the  lake  region  of  the  Middle  States,  which  shows 
by  laminae,  as  it  were,  the  successive  stages  of  its 
growth.  A  social  Agassiz,  regarding  it  attentively, 
might  trace  its  development  with  an  ease  and  certainty 
equal  to  that  with  which  the  naturalist  declares  the  era 
of  a  pre-Adamite  fossil. 

It  v/as  called  a  "  lake  town,"  but,  in  reality,  the 
town  itself  was  about  two  miles  from  the  shore,  as  the 
crow  flies,  and  a  good  half-mile  further  from  the  har- 
bor which  bore  its  name.  The  harbor,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  stream  upon  the  banks  of  which  the'  town  was 
built,  had  been  a  place  of  considerable  importance  be- 
fore the  native  wildness  of  the  present  site  had  been 
impaired.  Long  before  Perry  had  made  the  beautiful 
sheet  of  water  famous  as  the  scene  of  one  of  the  most 
memorable  exploits  of  naval  warfare,  this  little  port 
was  a  trading-station  and  a  landing-place  for  the  hardy 
pioneers  of  the  Reserve  who  were  seeking  new  fortunes 
in  the  inexhaustible  fields  of  "the  'Hios,"  as  Ohio  was 
then  generally  called. 

With  the  influx  of  settlers  which  followed  the  close 


ICO  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

of  the  war  of  1812,  Aychitula  had  become  a  place  of 
no  mean  importance.  So  that  the  National  Government 
was  duly  petitioned  for  an  appropriation  to  build  a 
wharf  and  lighthouse,  and  to  deepen  the  channel  on  the 
bar.  This  was  accordingly  done,  and  the  harbor  con- 
stituted a  port  of  entry,  known  and  described  in 
the  return  of  the  engineer  as,  "  Aychitula  Harbor,  at 
the   mouth  of  the  Aychitula  Creek,   from  Buffalo,  west 

by  south,   miles.     Steady   pier-light,   on   east   side 

of  inlet,  at  26  feet  elevation  from  low-water  level  in 
channel.  Bearing  from  bar  inlet,  S.S.W.  Water  on 
bar,  7  feet  8  inches.  Harbor  difficult  when  wind  is 
westerly  or  northwesterly." 

The  worthy  citizen  who  undertook  to  build  the 
wharf  and  lighthouse  and  deepen  the  bar,  under  direc- 
tion of  the  engineer  in  charge,  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
be  upon  good  terms  with  that  officer,  as  it  becomes  a 
contractor  to  be  with  the  agent  of  his  paymaster.  In 
consequence  whereof,  he  soon  found  himself  able  to 
erect,  on  his  own  account,  a  store  and  warehouse 
upon  the  pier,  and  soon  thereafter  his  possessions  were 
flanked  by  a  low-browed  tavern — its  porch  towards 
the  landing,  but  its  kitchen,  stable,  and  dormitories 
stretched  away  back  upon  piles  and  piers,  among  which 
the  restless  waves  splashed  and  fretted  in  a  ceaseless 
turmoil.  Before  the  channel  on  the  bar  had  been  deep- 
ened the  two  feet  which  his  contract  required  for  a 
width  of  three  hundred  feet,  the  contractor  had  become 
the  owner  of  a  little  fleet  of  schooners,  the  first  of 
which,  with  strange  suggestiveness,  was  named  after 
his  friend,  the  engineer.     In   these   days  of  corruption 


FROM  LOVE    TO   LARCENY.  joj 

and  clamor,  such  an  event,  when  coupled  with  the  no- 
ticeable prosperity  of  Squire  Neal,  would  have  been  her- 
alded from  Maine  to  California-*-or,  if  we  would  give 
the  compasses  the  widest  stretch,  from  Florida  to 
Alaska.  But  such  was  not  the  case  at  that  time,  both 
because  Maine  and  Florida  were  only  inchoate  exist- 
ences, and  California  undreamed  of  by  even  the  wildest 
speculators,  but  also  because  in  those  days  honorable 
and  high-minded  men  held  office  and  discharged  their 
duties  with  integrity  and  zeal.  Nevertheless,  certain 
shipmasters  who  were  accustomed  to  take  their  vessels 
out  and  in  at  at  the  new  port  of  Aychitula  were  heard 
to  declare  that  they  had  never  been  able  to  find  the 
three  hundred  feet  of  channel  at  the  bar  which  had 
been  deepened  to  nine  feet,  as  per  contract,  as  the 
officer  in  charge  had  certified  to  have  been  done  upon 
the  vouchers  by  which  Squire  Neal  drew  his  pay  for 
work  and  labor  performed.  Yet,  of  course,  the  chan- 
nel must  have  been  deepened  as  he  declared,  for  he 
was  a  Major  of  Engineers,  and  certainly  knew  his 
duty. 

Oddly  enough,  the  new  channel  manifested  a  strange 
perversity.  The  Aychitula  hitherto  had  been  a  very 
staid  and  well-behaved  stream  under  all  circumstances. 
Too  large  to  be  properly  called  a  creek,  it  evidently  felt 
all  the  dignity  of  a  river,  and  governed  itself  in  ac- 
cordance with  its  ambition.  From  its  mouth  to  its 
source  in  the  big  swamp,  a  hundred  miles  away — if  we 
follow  its  curves  and  doublings  (not  more  than  a  third- 
of  that  upon  the  surveyor's  map  who  had  run  the  town- 
ship lines  and  laid  them  off  into  sections  and  quarter- 


I02  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

sections) — it  did  not  approach  the  turbulence  and  for- 
getfulness  cf  a  fall.  Now  and  then  its  dark,  quiet  sur- 
face was  broken  by  a  fipple,  at  the  lov/er  edge  of  which 
the  bass  and  suckers  lay  in  wait  for  any  prey  the  dark 
waters  might  bring  to  them ;  but  even  this  was  rare. 
Its  progress  could  not  have  been  more  decorous  had  it 
been  the  funeral  march  of  that  wonderful  past  attested 
by  its  rugged  second  bank,  shelving  over  a  hundred  feet 
or  more,  and  the  wide  bottom-meadows  which  had  once 
been  its  bed.  It  took  no  note  of  time,  but  resolutely 
turned  aside  from  all  temptation  to  assume  a  swifter 
rate.  Even  the  early  and  the  later  rains  could  not  force 
it  from,  its  propriety.  It  grew  turbid  with  wTath  at  the 
bare  attempt  to  accelerate  its  current,  but  maintained  its 
dignity,  and  simply  spread  itself  calmly  over  the  bottom 
lands  and  went  on  with  added  volume  but  an  equal 
pace. 

As  was  observed,  this  staid  stream  at  once  developed 
a  peculiar  perversity  when  its  mouth  became  a  port  of 
entry,  and  its  fauces  were  lined  with  wharves,  and" 
stores  and  taverns  sprung  up  on  its  banks.  The 
amount  of  debris  which  it  carried  dov/n,  and  the  per- 
sistency with  which  it  dammed  up  its  ov.n  outlet,  Vvcre 
simply  amazing  to  one  who  reflected  on  its  irreproach- 
able antecedents.  It  was  said  that  its  name  vras  an 
Indian  one,  signifying  "black  water, "  and  that  it  had, 
in  consequence,  partaken  of  the  aboriginal  spirit,  and 
spurned  the  bonds  and  badges  of  civilization.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  year  after  year,  for  many  years,  the  Major 
certified,  upon  his  official  honor,  that  in  his  opinion  the 
channel  of  the  perverse  stream  needed  opening  and  deep- 


FROM  LOVE    TO   LARCENY.  1 03 

ening  in  the  interests  of  the  "  Lake  Trade  "  and  the 
numerous  and  rapidly  increasing  population  dependent 
upon  this  port  for  communication  with  the  outer  world. 
Strangely  enough,  too,  all  the  other  lake  ports  were 
afflicted  with  a  like  infirmity.  And,  year  after  year,  the 
representatives  of  the  people  in  Congress  assembled 
appropriated  greater  or  less  sums  for  their  relief.  And, 
year  by  year.  Squire  Neal  was  the  contractor ;  and  year, 
by  year,  he  prospered,  and  was  always  on  good  terms 
with  the  engineer. 

In  those  days  the  town  of  Aychitula  was  at  the  port; 
and  a  busy  town  it  was,  at  which  centered  all  the  trade 
and  travel  of  a  vast  back-country  of  rare  fertility,  settled 
by  pioneers  of  unprecedented  thrift  and  industry. 

But  time  brought  a  change.  Along  the  high  sandy 
ridges  which  follow  the  undulations  of  the  shore  of  the 
lake,  from  the  St.  Clair  to  its  outlet,  came,  after  a  while, 
the  weekly  stage.  The  lake  ceased  to  be  the  sole  high- 
way of  travel,  and  along  the  parallel  ridges  grew  up 
rival  towns  at  little  distances  from  the  shore.  Had  the 
steamboat  come  a  few  years  earlier,  the  chain  of  lake 
towns  in  Ohio,  Pennsylvania  and  New  York  would  have 
been  upon  the  bluffs  overlooking  the  ports,  instead  of 
being,  as  now,  at  points  where  the  roads  from  the  in- 
terior to  the  harbors  intersect  the  stage-route  from  the 
East.  The  products  from  the  interior,  as  well  as  their 
supplies,  were  hauled  over  the  thoroughfare  known  as 
the  "State  Roads,"  which  stretched  to  the  southward, 
from  the  various  ports.  This  was  the  course  of  freights 
and  merchandise,  but  the  ganglia  of  trade— the  centers 
of  life,  such  as  life  was  in  those  slov/  days — were  where 


I04  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES, 

the  roads  to  the  ports  crossed  the  main  stage-route  from 
the  Great  East,  the  ]\Iecca  from  which  the  elders  had 
made  hegira  and  to  which  the  juniors  would  make  pil- 
grimage. 

At  length  the  railroad  came,  upsetting  all  that  had 
gone  before,  spurning  alike  the  town  upon  the  ridge, 
and  the  one  at  the  harbor,  and  establishing  at  its 
depot,  which  was  usually  about  midway  between  the 
two,  yet  a  third  point,  to  which  both  freight  and  travel 
flowed.  Some  of  these  once  thriving  towns  the  iron 
horse  has  utterly  destroyed,  as  that  which  was  at  the 
port  of  Aychitula ;  and  left  others,  like  Rexville,  petri- 
fied, as  it  were,  by  the  first  shriek  of  the  locomotive. 
But  those  which  stood  upon  the  old  highways  to  their 
various  ports  still  kept  their  prominence  and  received 
fresh  impetus  from  this  new  means  of  communication.  ■ 

Each  of  these  developments  was  peculiar  to  itself, 
and  the  buildings  of  the  towns  show  at  once  the  eras 
to  which  they  severally  belong. 

As  Markham  Churr  neared  the  wharf  in  the  oM 
harbor  of  Aychitula,  through  whose  rotting  piles  the 
waves  beat  at  will,  he  saw  before  him  all  that  was 
left  of  the  first  era :  vast  wooden  buildings,  which  had 
been  massive  in  their  day,  now  worn  and  decayed, 
chafed  by  the  restless  weaves  and  still  more  restless 
winds;  long  stores  and  warehouses,  whose  piers  had 
sunk  away,  and  in  which  the  storms  had  piled  the 
sand  as  high  as  the  rude  teamsters  from  the  south- 
ward had  piled  up  the  grain-sacks  in  the  olden  times. 
All  was  ruin  and  decay.  The  harbor,  which  might 
have   withstood   the    stage-coach,    had    succumbed    to 


FROM  LOVE    TO  LARCENY.  X05 

the  railroad.  Squire  Neal — well,  the  harbor  had  stood 
by  him,  and  he  by  the  harbor,  until,  like  it,  he  had 
yielded  to  decay. 

As  Markham  walked  towards  the  town,  he  met 
with  the  relics  of  the  second  era — that  of  the  stage-  * 
coach.  On  each  side  of  the  creek  there  was  a  town. 
That  on  the  west  appropriated  the  name  Aychitula, 
while  the  other  was  more  usually  known  as  the  "  Ease 
Village."  Wandering  through  this,  Markham  saw  vast 
stables  and  sheds  going  to  decay  only  less  rapidly  than 
the  warehouses  of  the  harbor.  These  were  the  cara- 
vanseries  built  to  accommodate  the  hundreds  of  horses 
that  stage  travel  made  necessary;  while  the  East  Vil- 
lage itself  was  built  to  accommodate  the  travelers 
w^hom  the  stage-coach  brought.  Low,  rambling  tav- 
erns of  almost  limitless  capacity,  with  one  or  two 
stores;  great  wooden  houses,  ornate  with  intricately- 
fretted  cornices;  and  now  and  then  a  glaring-fronted, 
damp-v/alled  brick,  with  its  black  metal  knocker — one 
of  the  palaces  of  the  stage-coach  aristocracy.  The 
broad  streets  were  grass -grown  and  untrodden  save 
along  the  sandy  wagcn-track. 

He  crossed  the  old  wooden  bridge,  with  its  vv^arn- 
ing  notice  to  the  Jehus  of  the  stage,  which  stared  out 
in  plain  black  letters  from  the  weather-worn  board, 
and  came  into  the  railroad  station  of  Aychitula  :  from 
the  past  into  the  present.  Here  all  was  life  and  thrift. 
The  paved  sidewalks  and  busy  throngs  of  the  town 
contrasted  strangely  vrltii  the  deserted  harbor  and  the 
lonely  streets  he  had  just    left. 

In    an    hour  he    had   noted,  in    close  juxtaposition, 


io6  ^^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

the  three  stages  of  development  which  characterized 
the  three  generations  that  have  lived  and  labored 
upon  the  Western  Reserve. 


CHAPTER    XV, 

IN    THE    CURRENT. 

THE  theme  of  all  conversation  in  the  town  was 
the  robbery  of  the  night  before.  Its  incidents 
were  few.  Some  one  had  entered  the  bank,  opened 
the  vault  and  taken  out  a  quantity  of  specie  and  nu- 
merous deposits.  The  porter,  an  old  man,  who  had 
been  in  the  employ  of  the  bank,  for  twenty  years, 
always  kept  the  key  of  the  outer  door,  while  the  cashier 
carried  those  of  the  vault  and  safe.  Had  there  been 
any  suspicion  of  either,  their  evidently  unassumed  sur- 
prise and  grief  would  -at  once  have  dissipated  it.  No 
one  could  make  out  how  or  by  whom  the  bank  had 
been  entered.  Every  one  looked  and  wondered,  and 
went  away  without  even  an  hypothesis.  For  once  even 
the  wiseacres  of  the  little  town  were  silent.  They 
looked  wise  and  listened  gravely  to  what  was  said,  but 
neither  revealed  the  past  nor  foretold  the  future. 

Markham  Chujr  met  Boaz  Woodley  going  up  the 
steps  of  the  bank.  He  was  the  President  of  the  insti- 
tution, a  large  stockholder  and  de])ositor,  and  his  brow 
was  clouded  with  anxiety.  He  had  just  arrived,  sum- 
moned   by    telegraph,  to    investigate    the    matter.     The 


IX    THE   CURRENT.  iq-j 

habit  of  a  life  was  upon  him,  however,  and,  recognizing 
Markham,  he  extended  his  hand  and  said,  with  a  smile : 

"Ah!  Churr,  how  are  you?  A  bad  business  here," 
lifting  his  brows,  and  jerking  thumb  and  head  towards 
the  bank.  "  Will  you  come  in  ?  The  detectives  have 
just  arrived,  they  tell  me,  two  experts  from  the  city. 
I  have  no  confidence  in  such  cattle,  but  it  is  fashionable 
to  have  them  on  such  occasions,  like  mourners  at  a 
funeral.  Come  in.  It  may  amuse  you.  Besides,  I 
want  help  to  see  that  these  rascals  don't  steal  what  is 
left." 

Thus  invited,  Markham  went  in.  Two  or  three  di- 
rectors and  the  officers  of  the  bank  were  already  there. 
The  detective:."  had  begun  their  examination.  They 
were  fair  average  men  in  their  calling,  possessing,  no 
doubt,  an  extensive  acquaintance  among  the  special  class 
of  knaves  to  which  they  had  devoted  themselves.  Their 
inspection  of  the  premises  and  examination  of  the 
cashier  and  porter  was  attended  by  many  knowing 
winks  and  shrugs  to  each  other,  though  to  Markham 's 
mind,  they  revealed  nothing  which  could  remotely  bear 
upon  the  question  involved.  The  fact  that  they  seemed 
to  gather  more  than  he  could  from  these  sources  piqued 
his  mental  pride,  and  he  soon  found  himself  trying  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  the  entrance,  exit,  and  identity  of 
the  criminals,  with  the  same  intensity  of  thought  and 
relish  of  exertion  which  he  would  have  bestowed  upon 
a  difficult  problem  of  mathematics. 

The  building  was  of  one  story,  brick,  with  two 
rooms.  The  front  one  contained  the  counter,  cashier's 
and  clerks'  desks.     That  in  the  rear  was  fitted  up  for 


lo8  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

private  interviews  and  meetings  of  the  directors.  In 
the  wall  between  the  two  was  the  vault,  accessible  only 
from  within  the  railed  enclosure  extending  across  the 
west  side  of  both  rooms.  The  back  room  had  two 
windows,  with  iron  shutters,  which  locked  on  the  inside; 
and  there  was  one  of  the  same  character  on  the  left 
of  the  door  in  the  front  room.  On  the  east  side,  oppo- 
site the  paying  teller's  desk,  was  also  a-  small  window, 
some  six  feet  from  the  floor,  the  shutters  of  which  were 
fastened  with  inside  springs.  These  were  all  found  duly 
closed   and  locked  on  the  morning  after  the  robbery. 

How  did  the  robbers  get  in,  or,  being  in,  how  did 
they  get  out } 

The  detectives  examined  the  locks  with  some  pretty 
tools.  By  the  aid  of  one  of  those  little  concave  mirrors 
with  a  hole  in  the  middle,  with  which  surgeons  examine 
the  inner  coatings  of  the  eye,  and  which  has  thus  de- 
rived its  name,  ophthalmoscope,  they  were  able  to  send 
a  ray  of  light  into  the  key-holes  of  the  safes  and  vault ; 
but  no  unusual  abrasion  of  the  surface  of  the  socket 
and  wards  showed  the  use  of  force,  the  trial  of  skeleton 
keys,  or  any  of  the  ordinary  devices  of  the  professional 
lock-picker. 

When  they  had  examined  everything,  and  questiond 
everybody  supposed  to  have  information  of  value,  they 
consulted  together  for  a  moment,  and  then,  approaching 
Boaz  Woodley — who  sat  drumming  his  fingers  on  the 
cashier's  desk,  and  watching,  with  apparent  listlessness, 
but  actual  keenness,  the  acts  and  demeanor  of  every 
one  in  the  room — the  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader 
said: 


IN    THE    CURRENT.  T09 

"We  have  examined  the  building,  sir,  and  are  con- 
fident we  have  found  a  clue.  \Ve  wish  to  make  some 
further  observations,  however,  and  to  consult  together 
for  a  little  vdiile,  v/hen  we  would  like  to  see  you  alone, 
if  convenient. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Woodley.  "  You  can  come  to  my 
room,  No.  4,  at  the  Argo  House,  in  an  hour. 

The  detectives  withdrew  and  immediately  adjourned 
to  a  convenient  lunch-room,  where,  in  a  curtained  al- 
cove, over  glasses  of  their  favorite  beverages,  they 
proceeded  to  make  their  observations  and  hold  the 
consultation  they  deemed  so  important. 

"Dry  picking,  ain't  it,  Tom.?"  said  the  leader. 
"Deuced  if  it  ain't,  Bill,"  replied  the   other;    "the 
very  driest  I  ever  saw." 
"V/hat  shall  we  do.?" 
"Don't  know." 

"I'll  tell  you,  Tom.  We  must  lay  it  on  the  old 
man,  Horton,  the  cashier.  I've  no  idea  lie  did  it— 
though  who  the  devil  did  I  can't  guess.  And  that's  my 
strong  point.  If  any  one— old  Woodley,  for  instance- 
should  ask  me :  '  What  reason  have  you.  Bill  Saunders, 
for  thinking  that  Thomas  Horton  committed  this  rob- 
bery?' I  would  answer,  bold  as  a  lion:  'Who  did,  if 
he  did  not  ?'  That  would  be  a  poser,  I  reckon." 
"  It  won't  do,  Bill,"  replied  Tom,  seriously. 
"Won't  do!     Why  not.?" 

"  ^Vhy  not  ?  Because  Boaz  Woodley  would  no  more 
believe  the  tale  than  that  he  had  taken  the  money  hIm-> 
self  He's  not  the  man  to  swallow  chaff.  You  must 
give  him  reasons  ;   or,  if  you  haven't  any  reasons,  say 


no  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

so  and  be  done  v/ith  it.  Don't  try  to  fool  him.  It's 
better  not.  If  we  tell  him  the  truth,  square  out,  as 
likely  as  not  he'll  say,  'Keep  on,  boys,'  and  we'll  stand 
a  chance  for  a  good  fee  in  the  job  yet." 

*'  Oh,  let  me  alone  for  that,  Tom.  I'll  talk  to  him," 
replied  Bill,  with  a  knowing  wink. 

"Yes,  you're  always  gassing  about  'clues,'  and 
'traces,'  and  'leads,'  and  'scents,'  and  all  such  damned 
nonsense,  when  you  know  no  more  about  a  matter 
than  an  oyster  does  of  horse-racing,"  responded  I'om, 
sulkily. 

"  So  I  am,  and  you'll  see,  mate ;  I'll  make  old 
Woodley  think  we  know  more  about  the  cracking  of 
that  safe  than  the  men  as  did  it,"  answered  the  leader. 

"  We'll  see  you  make  a  darn  fool  of  yourself,  and 
old  Boaz  '11  find  it  out,  too.  Don't  expect  me  to  back 
you." 

"Very  well.  You  can  take  your  course,  and  I'll 
take  mine." 

Immediately  upon  the  detectives  leaving  the  bank, 
those  present^  except  Markham  Churr,  fell  into  a  low- 
toned  conversation  upon  the  robbery.  Feeling  him- 
self a  sort  of  intruder  at  this  conference,  and  piqued 
at  the  thought  that  the  detectives  had  discovered  more 
than  he  had  been  able  to  see,  he  began  to  walk  back 
and  forth,  narrowly  scanning  everything  in  sight,  and 
seeking  for  the  clue  of  which  they  had  spoken.  For 
some  time  he  saw  nothing  to  reward  his  search,  and 
had  nearly  given  it  over,  when,  happening  to  look  down 
as   he   passed   beneath    the    side   window   of   the  front 


IX   THE   CURRENT.  m 

room,  he  saw  in  the  soft  poplar  planit  of  which  the 
floor  was  made,  just  at  the  edge  of  the  strip  of  matting 
which  ran  between  the  counter  and  the  wall,  the  im- 
press of  a  boot-heel,  evidently  made  with  the  toe  of 
tlic  foot  turned  towards  the  wall.  Here  was  the  clue, 
as  he  thought.  The  window  was  about  seven  feet 
from  the  floor,  and  this  was  just  such  an  impression 
as  one  would  make  in  dropping  from  the  window-sill, 
with  his  face  to  the  wall.  Churr's  satisfaction  was 
peculiar  and  intense.  He  leaned  against  the  coun- 
ter, folded  his  arms,  and  gazed  intently  toward  the 
windovv^.  He  remembered,  too,  that  a  high  board-fence 
ran  along  that  side  of  the  bank,  and  but  a  few  feet 
from  it,  vvith  a  heavy  rail  near  its  top.  It  occurred  to 
him,  also,  that  this  fence  inclosed  the  garden  of  the 
cashier.  He  turned  quickly,  and  looked  at  Mr.  Mor- 
ton. It  could  not  be.  That  fussy  little  man,  with  a 
face  full  of  helpless  distress,  who  sat  there  twisting  his 
fingers  and  knitting  his  brows  in  hopeless  bewilder- 
ment, could  not  be  the  thief.  But,  if  not,  who  could  } 
Boaz  Wocdley  noticed  the  look.  His  own  mind  had 
been  running  in  the  same  channel. 

"  You  are  sure,  Mr.  Horton,  that  you  had  the  keys 
all  day  yesterday  and  last  night  ?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"Perfectly  sure,"  answered  the  cashier,  rubbing  his 
forehead  absently  "You  see,  sir,  ever  since  I  have 
carried  the  keys  I  have  put  them  under  my  pillow 
every  night,  and  a  pistol  witn  them  My  wife  has 
either  laughed  or  scolded  about  it  all  the  time.  She 
has  always  declared  that  I  would  v/orry  myself  to 
death  over  the  responsibility  of  those  keys;  and,  indeed. 


112  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

gentlemen,  they  have  been  a  terrible  care  to  me."  He 
touched  the  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  his  head  and 
smoothed  his  thin  earlocks  pathetically,  as  if  they 
were  the  indisputable  evidence  of  this  anxiety. 

"So  they  were   under  your  pillow  all    last    night.?" 

"Just  so — just  so,"  said  Horton,  and  he  pulled 
his  small  whiskers  nervously,  "  I  wish  I  had  never 
seen  them,  nor  the  bank  either,"  he  added,  petulantly. 

"Pshaw,  now,"  said  Woodley ;  "don't  be  foolish! 
Was  there  any  one  at  your  house  last  night  except 
your  family.'" 

"No,  sir;    no  one  but  m.y  wife  and  myself." 

One  by  one  the  others  had  gone  out.  The  cashier, 
Woodley,  and  Markham  Churr  were  alone. 

"  So  you  have  no  theory  of  the  robbery,  and  no 
suggestion  as  to  how  it  may  be  traced  V 

"No  theory;  not  even  a  guess — unless  I  did  it 
myself,"  said  Horton,  despondently — "  though  I  have 
something  that  may  help  in  tracing  the  thief.  You 
know  I  make  a  list  of  all  bills  of  five  dollars  and  over 
which  we  have  on  hand  every  night.  It's  a  sight  of 
trouble,  dear  knows,  but  somehow  I've  always  found 
time  to  do  it.  These  lists,  with  a  memorandum  of 
deposits  and  copies  of  some  other  important  papers,  I 
keep  in  a  little  tin  trunk  at  my  house.  I  keep  this 
account  of  bills  in  a  little  book,  and  post  it  up  every 
Saturday  ;  so  I  know  the  number  of  every  bill  in  the 
bank  except  special  deposits." 

"And  you  have  that  book  now.'"  asked  Woodley, 
interestedly. 

"  Certainly ;  and  as  quick  as  I  learned  of  the  rob- 


IN    THE    CURRENT. 


113 


bery  this  morning  and  could  examine  the  parcels  here, 
I  made  out  a  list  of  all  the  bills  taken." 

"Good!"  said  Woodley.  "You  are  a  trump,  Hor- 
ton,    if    you  are  much  of  an  old  maid." 

"But  you  forget,"  said  the  cashier,  whose  attention 
could  not  be  diverted  even  by  raillery  from  the  calam- 
ity which  had  befallen  his  beloved  charge — "you  for- 
get, Mr.  Woodley,  that  almost  all  we  have  lost  is  specie 
and  some  special  deposits." 

"  How  much  specie  .'*" 

"A  little  better  than  three  thousand  dollars— three 
even,  and  some  loose  change  from  the  drawers — per- 
haps a  hundred  or  so  more." 

"How  much  in  bills.?" 

"  Five  hundred  and  seventy,  sir.  Here  is  the  list 
of  numbers." 

"  That's  not  so  much,"  said  the  President,  thought- 
fully. 

"  No,"  sighed  Horton-  "  I  could  make  that  up, 
but  I  feel  worse  about  the  special  deposits.  I  may  not 
be  able  to  reach  them." 

"  Make  it  up !  make  it  up  L  Damn  it,  man,  who 
asks  you  to  make  it  up .? "  exclaimed  Woodley, 
roughly. 

"  No  one  has  yet,  but  I  shall  do  it.  I  could  never 
stand  it  to  look  you  and  all  the  directors  and  depositors 
in  the  face,  and  think  that  they  had  lost  by  trusting  to 
me,"  said    Horton,   deprecatingly. 

"  You  will  do  no  such' thing,  and  I  shall  call  a  meet- 
ing of  the  directors  and  move  your  dismissal  if  I  hear 
another  word   about   it.     A  man  who   proposes  to  bal- 


114  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

ance  our  profit  and  loss  account  in  that  way  is  not 
fit  for  your  place,"  said  Woodley,  in  assumed  anger. 

"Of  course,  I — I — "  mumbled  poor  Horton. 

"What  deposits  were  lost?"  asked  his  questioner. 

Horton  put  on  his  spectacles,  took  out  a  pocket- 
book,  and,  laying  it  before  him,  turned  methodically  to 
a  certain  compartment  of  it  and  drew  forth  a  paper, 
which  he  handed  to  Woodley. 

"  Here  is  a  list  of  them.  You  see  the  parcel  you 
left  with  us  a  week  ago   is  among  the  number." 

"Ah!"  said  Woodley,  as  he  glanced  over  the  list. 
"  That  is  gone,  is  it }  Well,  make  me  out  a  list  of  all 
that  has  been  lost  and  bring  it  to  my  room  by  five  if 
you  can,  Mr.  Horton.  You  had  better  keep  the  bank 
closed  for  a  day  or  two.  I  will  prepare  a  statement 
for  the  public,  and  we  will  both  sign  it. 

"  Come,  Churr,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  young  man, 
"let's  go.  You  have  not  dined  nor  have  I.  So  come 
and  take  dinner  with  me.  It's  too  late  for  that  meal 
in  Aychitula  except  by  special  grace." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

FOR    HOW    MUCH    MONEY.? 

DINNER   was    over,   and    the    old    lawyer   and    the 
young    one    sat  together  in  the  room  of  the  for- 
mer.    They  had  been  silent  for  some  minutes, 

"  Who  stole   that  money,  Churr  V   asked  Woodley, 


FOR  HOW  MUCH  MONEY?  ji^ 

suddenly,  with  a  sharp  glance  at  his   companion  and  a 
nod  towards  the  bank. 

Markham  started  and  colored  quickly  at  the  abrupt 
question. 

**I — I — don't  know,"  he  stammered. 

"Of  course,"  laughed  Woodley,  "I  know  you  did 
not  do  it ;  but  who  did  1  That's  the  question.  You 
have  an  idea,  or,  rather,  you  think  you  could  find 
out." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Woodley," — began  Markham. 

"Stop!"  said  Woodley;  "don't  begin  to  offer  ex- 
cuses. I  am  frank  to  say  it's  all  a  mystery  to  me.  I 
can't  make  even  a  guess  ;  I  know  you  have  done  that, 
at  least,  and  have  some  ground  for  it.  Don't  ask  me 
how  I  know ;  I  could  not  tell  you  if  I  tried.  The 
only  thing  I  know  is  men.  I  know  you  have  found  a 
theory,  and  I  have  some  confidence  in  your  power  of 
observation  ;  so  I  ask  you,  Wlio  did  it }  When  I  took 
hold  of  this  bank,  which  I  as  good  as  own  now,  you 
may  say,  and  wanted  a  cashier,  I  looked  around  for 
one  who  would  always  know  what  he  had  and  what  he 
did,  and  care  more  for  the  bank  than  for  his  own 
soul;    and  Thomas    Horton    is  that  man." 

"  You  have  great  confidence,  then,  in  Mr.  Hor- 
ton?" 

"I  have  great  confidence  in  my  own  judgment," 
replied  Woodley.  "I  never  make  a  mistake  in  a  man, 
never,  when  I  follow  my  own  head.  Occasionally, 
when  I  have  gone  by  another's  advice,  I  have.  As  I 
told  you  the  other  day  at  Lanesviile,  I  never  had  the 
advantages  of  education,  but  I  know  men  instinctively. 


ii6  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

I  have  never  been  good  at  learning  or  doing  anything 
myself.  I  have  always  been  able  to  find  some  one  to 
do  it  for  me  a  great  deal  better  than  I  could  do  it 
myself.  Now,  here's  this  affair.  It  gets  into  me  pretty 
deep — deeper  than  I  would  care  about  confessing — 
and  it's  got  to  be  ferreted  out.  I  said  that  this  morn- 
ing when  I  read  the  telegram  at  Lanesville.  i  said  to 
myself,  too :  Now,  you  must  keep  awake  to  find  the 
man  to  do  ir.  I  knew  I  should  find  him,  because  I 
always  do.  I  have  become  a  fatalist — in  that  matter, 
at  least.  Of  course  I  sent  for  the  detectives — tele- 
graphed for  them ;  and  these  cotton-duffers  cam.e  down. 
I  knew  it  would  be  useless.  No  other  man  can  ever 
pick  out  nien  to  do  my  work  for  me.  I  can't  do  it 
myself  if  I  once  stop  and  try  to  define  why  I  choose 
this  man  or  that  for  a  particular  purpose.  If  I  go 
right  on  and  follow  my  bent — my  feeling — instinct,  if 
you  choose — I  am  all  right.  If  I  stop  to  reason  or 
define  I  am  lost.  These  fellows,  now — I  had  to  send 
for  them,  of  course.  It  was  my  place,  as  President  of 
the  bank,  to  do  so.  It  will  be  published  now  that  the 
matter  is  in  the  hands  of  competent  detectives,  who 
have  a  clue  which  they  are  confident  will  enable  them 
to  trace  the  perpetrators,  etc.  But  it's  all  a  lie.  Those 
men  are  not  the  right  material  for  a  case  like  this. 
They  are  too — too — I  don't  know  w^hat,  only  too  short 
range  for  the  game  I  have  to  hunt.  They  will  come 
up  here  now  and  say  it  was  old  Tommy  Horton  who 
tapped  that  safe — which  I  know  is  a  damned  lie — a 
damned  lie,  sir;  that  I  know,  though  I  can't  say  how 
I  know  it." 


FOR   HOW  MUCH  MONEY?  ny 

"  But  how  do  you  know,  Mr.  Woodley,  that  they 
suspect  the  cashier?"    asked  Markham, 

''How  do  I  know  it?  how  do  I  know  it?"  snapped 
Woodley.  "How  do  I  know  I  live?  I  can't  say.  I 
see  it  or  feel  it — I  just  know  it,  and  that's  all 
there  is  of  it.  But  you'll  see,"  he  continued,  as 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  "for  here  they 
are." 

"Come  in,"  he  called  out;  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated,  he  asked  : 

"Weil,  v> hat  do  you  rnake  out?" 

"Ahem!"  said  the  spokesman  of  the  pair,  looking 
stiffly  towards  Markham;  "we  should  prefer  to  con- 
sult with  you  alone,  if  agreeable  to  you,  sir." 

"And  I  prefer,"  said  Woodley,  casting  a  cool  look 
upon  the  speaker,  "  that  you  should  not." 

But  Bill  Saunders  was  not  inclined  to  yield  either 
his  point  or  his  dignity. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  he  said,  pompously;  "if  we  cannot 
be  allowed  to  conduct  the  case  in  our  own  way,  we 
will  withdraw  from  it  entirely." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Woodley,  quietly. 

"We  have  found  an  important  clue,  a  very  impor- 
tant one,  sir,"  said  Saunders,  with  the  tone  of  one 
bursting  with  knowledge. 

"Indeed!"  said  Woodley,  carelessly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  continued  Saunders;  "I  may  say  that 
we  are  on  a  scent  which  we  consider  certain  to  result 
in  the  capture  of  the  thief." 

"The  thief!"  said  Woodley,  turning  around  sharply. 
'*Do  you  suppose  that  one  man  did  that  job?" 


Ii8  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"Of  course,"  responded  Saunders,  apologetically, 
"there  may  have  been  more  than  one." 

"May!    may!"    sneered  Woodley. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  the  number,  but  of  the 
principal  in  the  robbery — the  one  who  got  the  swag," 
said  Saunders,  recovering  bravely. 

"You  have  fixed  him,  I  presume,  beyond  a  doubt?" 
and  Woodley's  sneer  grew  more  intense. 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  have,"  said  Saunders,  confidently ; 
"  that  is,"  he  added,  less  positively,  "  Tom  and  me 
have  consulted,  and,  after  comparin'  notes,  w«  are  of 
the  notion  that  only  one  man  could  have  been  at  the 
bottom  of  it." 

"And  that   man,?'*    still  sneering. 

"  Is  the   cashier   of  the  bank,"  said   Saunders. 

"Thomas  Horton!"     ironically. 

"  Of  course,  sir,  you  ought  to  know  his  name,  and 
will  have  reason  to  remember  it,"  said  Saunders, 
smartly. 

"And  now,  sir,  perhaps  you  have  no  objection  to 
telHng  me  some  of  the  reasons  why  you  suspect  Thomas 
Hibbard  of  the  robbery,"  said  Woodley. 

"Reasons.?  Why  sir,  who  else  could  it  have  been.?" 
said  Saunders,  confidently. 

"  So  I  am  to  understand  that  you  have  concluded 
that  Mr.  Horton  stole  this  money  simply  because 
you  are  so  thick-headed  that  you  cannot  see  your  way 
to  accuse  any  one  else  .?"  said  Woodley,  angrily. 

"  I  told  ye.  Bill,  there  was  no  use  in  trying  that 
dodge,"  broke  in  Tom.  "  The  fact  is,  sir,  we  just 
don't  see  anyway  out  of  this  mess  at  all;  but  Bill,  he 


FOR  HOW  MUCH  MONEY?  Uf^ 

thought  it  wouldn't  do  to  say  so,  but  that  we'd  best 
make  a  shy  at  the  cashier  and  wait  for  time  to  show 
up  something.  I  didn't  like  it  at  the  first,  sir,  but  Bill 
held  out  that  it  was  best,  and  I  give  in,  as  I  generally 
does,  to  him." 

"In  o:her  words,"  said  Woodley,  "you  two  precious 
birds  conspired  to  stigmatize  an  honest  man  because 
you  were  too  stupid  to  find  the  rogue." 

"It  does  look  so,"  said  Tom,  flushing  with  shame, 
"though  I  did  not  mean  it  that  way,  nor  do  I  think 
Bill  did,  though  it  was  his  plan.  You  see,  Mr.  Woodley, 
people  think  that  because  we  are  detectives  we  can 
find  out  everything,  and  all  in  a  minute,  like,  an'  if  we 
don't,  they  take  up  at  once  that  we  don't  know  our 
business.  So,  when  we  can't  find  out  anything  at  all, 
or  scarce  anything,  it  wouldn't  do  to  say  so,  as  a  general 
rule,  but  we  have  to  make  believe  a  sight  more  than  we 
knows,  to  satisfy  them  as  employs  us.  That's  the 
reason,  you  see,  that  Bill  tried  to  throw  this  scent  on 
the  cashier." 

"  Well,"  said  Woodley,  "  there's  some  sense  in  what 
you  say.  I've  no  doubt  it  is  a  good  deal  so.  But  it 
is  as  I  supposed.  You  can  do  nothing  for  us  in  this 
case.  It's  something  out  of  the  ordinary  range  of  your 
business." 

"  That  it  is,  sir,"  said  Tom.  "  Bill  and  me  both 
think  we've  never  seen  such  another.     Dan't  we  Bill?" 

Bill,  who  felt  the  rebuff  which  Woodley  had  given 
very  seriously,  hastened   to  add : 

"  It's  the  only  case  we  ever  see  that  we  couldn't 
find  some  reasonable  clue  to  work  on." 


I20  PIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"Yes.  I've  no  doubt  you've  done  your  best,  and 
that  best  is  probably  as  good  as  your  profession  can 
furnish." 

The  two  detectives  half  bowled,  and  looked  about 
with  improved  self-respect,  after  this  dubious  compli- 
ment. 

"  But  you  see,  yourselves,'"  continued  Woodley,  ''  that 
it  is  a  case  in  which  you  can  do  no  good.  Now,  it  is 
my  idea  that  the  only  way  is  just  to  let  the  scent  lie, 
and  see  what  time  will  do  in  the  matter." 

"  Precisely  our  notion  sir,"  said  Bill. 

"Well,  then,  here  are  hfty  dollars  for  each  of  you 
for  what  you  have  tried  to  do,  and  also  to  keep  you 
from  trying  to  do  anything  more.  You  understand  ?  I 
don't  want  you  eVer  to  think  of  this  again,  much  less 
speak  of  it !" 

'*  Of  course  Ave  shall  do  as  you  wish,"  said  Tom, 
"  though  we'd  like  to  have  a  chance  for  another  try, 
after  a  bit." 

"  Never  think  of  it.  I  shall  see  that  it  is  reported 
that  the  matter  is  in  the  hands  of  competent  detectives, 
and  all  that,  for  your  sakes ;  but  if  I  ever  hear  of  your 
lifting  a  finger,  or  making  a  guess  again,  I  will"  make 
such  report  of  this  as  wdil  interfere  very  seriously  with 
your  professional  reputation.     You  understand.^" 

The  detectives  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"There,"  said  Woodley,  as  they  relired.  "You  see 
it  is  just  as  I  told  you.  That  is  what  they  call  the 
professional  detective — good  enough  in  his  v.^ay,'but 
worthless  here.  In  the  ordinary  vulgar  v/ay  in  which 
locks  are  picked  and  banks  robbed  they  would  probably 


FOR  now  MUCH  MONEY?  121 

be  quite  efficient.  But  this  is  not  one  of  those  cases. 
It  shows  only  two  facts  to  my  mind.  First,  the  money 
is  gone  ;  and,  second,  the  opening — what  the  law  calls 
the  breaking — was  made  with  keys  that  perfectly  fitted 
the  locks,  both  of  the  outer  door  and  the  vault,  and 
left  no  marks  to  guide  those  fellows.  They  are  like 
wild  geese  in  a  storm,  in  such  a  case." 

"I  am  surprised,"  said  Markham,  "that  they  should 
not  have  observed  more  carefully." 

"  Which  means,"  said  Woodley,  "  diat  you  have  seen 
more  than  they  did.  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  When  I 
saw  you  coming  up  the  steps  of  the  bank  this  morning, 
I  said  to  myself:  There  is  your  man;  if  you  get  him 
to  take  hold  of  this  matter,  you  will  see  the  bottom  of 
it.     So  I  want  you  to  help  me." 

"  I — I  oan't.  I  mean  I  know  nothing  about  such 
matters,"  stammered  Churr,  quite  overwhelmed  with 
the  deft  flattery  of  the  old  lawyer. 

"  Well,  learn  then.  You  can:  learn,  can't  you  ?" 
asked  Woodley.  "But  L  am  willing  to  take  the  risk 
of  that.     Have  you  done  anything  since  we  met  V 

"  Not  exactly;  1  have  opened  an  office  in  Rexville," 
he  replied. 

"  As  a  makeshift  till  something*  better   offers,  eh  .>" 

"  I  suppose  sOw" 

"  Yes,  and  you  will  stay  there  till  you  are  starved 
out." 

"Perhaps,"  incredulously. 

The  old  lawyer  watched  him  keenly  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said  : 

"See  here,  Churr,  this  thing  is  of  vital  consequence 


122  ^^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

to  me — more  than  you  can  imagine.  I  must  know  who 
did  that,  and  have  every  scrap  that  was  taken  returned. 
You  understand,"  he  said,  excitedly,  "every  scrap!" 

"  I  understand,  sir,  but" — Churr  began  : 

"Stop!  stop!"  interrupted  Woodley.  "I  have  not 
done  yet.  I  make  you  this  offer :  I  will  give  you  one 
hundred  dollars  a  month  and  expenses  to  take  hold 
of  this  matter  and  push  it  till  you  have  found  the  thief, 
and  can  set  me  face  to  face  with  him,  or  until  you 
are  willing  to  look  me  in  the  eye  and  say  '  I  can't  do  it.'  " 

"But,  Mr.  Woodley" 

*'Wait  till  I  have  finished.  If  you  succeed  and  find 
the  man,  I  will  pay  you  one  thousand  dollars  in  ad- 
dition. If,  beyond  this,  you  recover  the  special  deposit 
v/hich  I  placed  in  the  vault  last  Saturday,  I  will  double 
Che  bonus,  and,  more  than  that,  I  vrill  pull  down  the 
sign  that  has  been  over  my  office  so  long  and  run  up 
another  with  '  Woodley  c^  Churr'  on  it.  You  shall  have 
a  fair  share  in  a  business  which  you  know  is  not  small, 
though  I  have  been  trying  to  reduce  it  for  several 
years.  I  have  never  had  a  partner,  and  the  name  of 
Boaz  Woodley  o^  a  sign  is  not  a  bad  capital  of  itself 
to  a  young  man  who  means  business." 

"  Mr.  Woodley,  you  are" 

"  Never  mind  w^hat  I  am.     Do  you  accept  my  offer. ^" 

Markham  was  silent. 

"Think  of  it,"  said  Woodley.  "In  a  few  minutes 
Horton  will  be  here  with  the  list  of  articles  taken. 
I  want  a  word  with  him,  and  I  may  have  some  writing 
to  do  then.  Come  back  here,  say  at  eight  o'clock,  and 
let  me  knov/  your  decision," 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE    GULF. 

N/TARKHAM  CHURR  went  out  to  think.  The 
1  proposal  he  had  received  staggered  him.  He 
had  an  indistinct  impression  that  the  crisis  of  his  hfe 
was  upon  him ;  that  he  needed  more  wisdom  and  fore- 
sight, to  enable  him  to  decide  rightly,  than  he  had 
ever  had  occasion  for  before.  He  longed  to  be  alone. 
He  thought  of  his  boat,  and  the  lake  covered  with 
white-caps  by  the  fresh  northwestern  breeze.  But  that 
was  more  than  two  miles  away.  He  remembered,  then, 
a  glen,  not  far  from  the  village,  known  far  and  wide  as 
the  "Gulf" — a  bit  of  noticeable  wildness  in  a  region 
singularly  devoid  of  striking  features — and  turned  his 
steps  thither. 

The  glen  itself  was  a  deep,  irregular  chasm,  with 
sharp,  precipitous  sides,  covered,  wherever  a  root  could 
cling,  with  matted  vines  and  stunted  trees.  At  the 
bottom  v/as  a  dense  undergrowth,  above  which  shot  a 
few  towering  forest  giants,  whose  dark  crests  showed 
even  above  the  level  of  the  adjacent  uplands.  A  nar- 
rov>^  road  clung  to  the  shelving  bank  upon  one  side, 
followed  the  meanderings  of  the  chasm  for  a  little  way, 
and  then  climbed  out  upon  the  opposite  side,  some- 
times hidden  by  overhanging   thickets,  and    sometimes 

skirting  the  bare  lace  of  the  crumbling  cliff. 

123 


124  '  ^^^^  "^^^'-^    THISTLES. 

A  tributary  of  the  Aychitula,  which  in  the  primal 
days  must  have  been  a  rushing  torrent,  though  now 
dwindled  to  an  insignificant  rill,  had  for  ages  waged  a 
wild  struggle  with  the  bed  of  stubborn  slate  to  gain  an 
outlet  into  the  larger  stream.  The  "  Gulf"  was  the 
result — a  deep  cut,  full  of  sharp  angles,  whose  rugged 
buttresses  of  dull  gray  rock  had  turned  the  current 
from  its  course,  and  still  stood,  jagged  and  firm,  in 
defiance  of  the  shrunken  rivulet  at  their  base.  The 
bottom  of  the  glen  was  studded  with  enormous  boul- 
ders, worn  and  fretted  by  the  moil  of  the  restless  waters, 
and  was  cut  with  deep,  irregular  furrows  which  the 
lessening  stream  had  worn.  In  one  place,  a  seam  of 
gneissoid  rock,  which  stretched  across  the  glen,  had 
proved  too  tough  for  the  fretful  torrent  to  cut  away, 
and  now  formed  a  sharp  cliff,  over  which  the  little  rill 
fell  in  foam  or  spray,  according  to  its  varying  volume. 
Wherever  a  root  could  cling,  the  hemlocks  and  beeches, 
drooping  alders,  swaying  birches,  and  clambering  vines 
had  fixed  themselves,  till  an  almost  impervious  thicket 
softened  its  ruggedness  and  dimmed  the  daylight  ad- 
mitted by  the  narrow  space  between  its  frowning  sides. 

Markham.  Churr  made  his  way  to  the  foot  of  the 
little  fall,  and  sat  down  on  a  scarred  boulder,  amid 
the  silent  shadows  of  the  glen,  to  decide  his  own  fate. 
Why  follow  his  thoughts.^  The  offer  he  had  received 
v:as  attractive  enough  to  tempt  any  one  whose  life  had 
been  like  his,  even  without  the  blandishments  of  a  love 
which  saw  in  that  the  fulfillment  of  its  dearest  aspira- 
tion. To  his  mind,  the  offer  of  Boaz  Woodley  meant 
opportunity,   advantage,  gain.     To  his    heart,  it    prom- 


THE    GULF.  125 

ised  home,  love — Lizzie  Harper.  He  came  to  decide 
whether  he  should  accept.  He  stayed  to  dream  of 
what  would  flow  from  his  acceptance,  until  the  shadows 
of  the  glen  had  deepened  to  the  gloom  of  night. 

At  the  stroke  of  eight  he  knocked  at  Woodley's 
door,  and,  on  entering,  found  him  busily  engaged  in 
writing. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Churr,"  he  said,  barely  glancing  up, 
and  continuing  to  write.  He  used  his  pen  with  won- 
derful ease.  There  was  no  hesitation  ;  but  line  after 
line  was  added  to  the  page,  and  page  after  page  to  the 
manuscript,  without  pause  for  thought  or  change  in 
what  was  written.  The  short,  fatty  hand,  ^vith  the 
wonderfully  white,  soft  fingers,  which  comported  so 
oddly  with  the  giant  frame  and  rough  exterior  of  the 
man,  traced,  with  a  rapidity  and  exactness  which  ex- 
cited Markham's  surprise,  the  minute  but  marvelously 
plain  characters.  It  was  curious,  but  there  seemed  to 
be  some  mystic  exhalation  from  the  strange  individu- 
ality of  the  writer  that  affected  every  one  who  traced 
what  he  had  written.  Markham  Churr  had  heard  of  it, 
for  Boaz  Woodley  was  one  of  those  about  vv'hom  most 
men  talk  much  and  know  little. 

When  he  had  concluded  his  writing,  he  turned  to 
the  young  man  and  said,  half-inquiringly  : 

"Well.?" 

"I  accept  your  offer,  Mr.  Woodley,"  said  Markham, 
in  response. 

"Of  course,"  said  Woodley,  in  a  tone  so  matter-of- 
fact  that  it  jarred  upon  Markham's  sensibilities.  "I 
have   prepared  everything,  so  that  you  can  proceed  in 


r26  J^^GS  AXn    THISTLES. 

the  matter  at  once.  Here  are  five  hundred  dollars  on 
account.  If  you  want  more,  draw  on  me.  Here  is  a 
book  in  which  you  will  keep  an  accurate  expense- 
account.  I  do  not  limit  you  in  the  matter  of  expenses. 
Whatever  you  need  you  will  use,  but  everything  will  be 
entered  in  detail  here.  I  would  advise  you  to  take 
receipts  for  all  sums  over  five  dollars  when  practica- 
ble. If  you  cannot  do  so,  state  why  not.  Here  is  a 
book  of  blank  receipts  for  that  purpose." 

Markham's  face  Hushed  angrily,  and  he  drevvr  back 
as  he  said  : 

"  If  you  are  afraid  that  I  will  cheat  you,  Mr.  Wood- 
ley,  it  is  better  that  I  should  not  undertake  the  busi- 
ness.'* 

"  See  here,  young  man,"  said  Woodley,  half  sternly. 
"  When  you  -come  to  my  years,  you  will  have  learned 
that  to  require  of  any  one  compliance  with  the  forms 
and  restraints  of  business  is  no  reilection  on  his  hon- 
esty, but  rather  a  compliment  to  it.  What  would  you 
think  if  I  were  to  put  you  in  charge  of  the  bank  and 
not  require  you  to  keep  books  of  account.^  You  would 
consider  rae  a  fool,  of  course,  as  I  should  be.  But 
what  would  you  say  of  yourself.^" 

"If  I  should  undertake  such  a  task,  I  should  be 
equally  foolish." 

"  Foolish  1     Why  ?" 

"  Because  I  should  have  no  means  of  showing  the 
correctness  of  my  transactions,"  answered  Markham. 

"Yes;  and  because,  too,  no  honesty  is  proof  against 
such  temptation.  Any  one  in  the  world  would  steal 
in    less    than    six    months    under    those    circumstances. 


THE    GULF.  127 

The  very  fact  that  theft  could  not  be  traced,  and  that 
all  was  dependent  on  his  honor,  would  so  vex  and  annoy 
the  man  that  he  would  be  compelled  to  steal  to  keep 
himself  out  of  an  insane  asylum." 

Markham  could  not  but  smile  at  the  idea. 

"You  may  laugh,"  he  continued,  "and  perhaps  that 
is  something  of  an  exaggeration,  but  in  effect  it  is  true. 
The  great  safeguard  of  honesty  is  close  accounting, 
and  that  is  the  great  defect  of  our  modern  system  of 
education— it  either  gives  a  very  superficial  knowledge, 
or,  as  is  generally  the  case,  no  knowledge  at  all,  of  the 
great  practical  science  of  life — accounts.  Many  a  man 
graduates  from  his  college,  and  perhaps  with  high  hon- 
ors, who  has  no  more  knowledge  of  the  mysteries  of 
debit  and  credit  than  I  have  of  Hebrew.  And  modern 
business  is  made  to  fit  this  defective  system  of  educa- 
tion. Revised,  improved  and  simpUfied  systems  of  book- 
keeping, which  show  no  more  of  the  business  they 
should  exemplify  than  can  possibly  be  avoided ;  systems 
of  figures,  few  words  and  little  labor — with  no  checks 
to  inaccuracy  of  statement  or  calculation — such  systems 
have  taken  the  place  of  the  old  laborious  plan  of 
double-entry  and  full  memoranda.  And  what  is  the 
result?  Our  business  is  equally  loose  and  unreliable. 
Failures  and  defalcations  are  the  rule.  Men  embark 
in  foolish  enterprises  with  insufficient  capital,  and  dis- 
honesty or  failure  follow, — usually  both.  And  it  all 
results  from  laxity  of  accounting.  A  business  man  is 
rarely  rash  or  unsafe  who  spends  time  enough  over  his 
books.  Well  was  the  summing-up  of  accounts  termed 
'balancing.'     It   is  the   balance  in  which   the   business 


128  J'lOS  AND    THISTLES, 

man  is  weighed,  and  either  found  truslworthy  or  found 
wanting." 

"  But  this  is  different  from  conducting  a  regular 
business,"  protested  Markham,  half-ashamed  of  the 
feeling  he  had  shown. 

"All  business  is  the  same,"  insisted  the  elder,  "tem- 
porary or  permanent,  complete  or  partial,  it  should  all 
be  regular.  It  is  this  very  distinction — this  idea  that 
it  does  not  pay  to  take  time  to  keep  full  accounts  in 
this  and  that  business — which  has  made  all  the  trouble. 
No,  young  man  ;  if  I  had  not  believed  that  you  w^ould 
succeed  in  this  and  vvould  one  day  be  my  partner,  I 
should  have  contented  myself  with  saying  that  I  ex- 
pected a  strict  account,  and  not  have  provided  these 
books  for  that  purpose.  Instead  of  insulting  you,  I 
meant  to  do  you  a  kindness." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Markham;  "I  was  no 
doubt  hasty,  and  am  perhaps  unduly  sensitive." 

"Oh!  no  harm.  It's  all  the  fault  of  your  false 
education.  All  that  I  am  or  have  I  owe  to  being  taught 
to  account  thoroughly  for  what  passes  through  my  hands 
— and  it  was  about  all  I  was  taught,  too.  Since  1  was 
eighteen  I  have  not  spent  a  dime  that  I  cannot  show 
the  proper  entry  for — not  even  for  a  cigar.  I  should 
have  cheated  myself  out  of  thousands  before  now,  but 
for  that.  You  will  find  it  the  best  staff  a  man  can  lean 
on,  and  it  is  well  for  you  to  begin  to  use  it,  for  your 
own  sake.  But  now^  to  business  again.  Have  you 
fixed  on  any  plan  for  pursuing  this  inquiry.?" 

"  After  the  detectives  had  concluded  their  examina- 
tion, I  noticed" — Markham  began. 


THE    CULF.  120 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  Woodley,  "I  don't  want  to  know 
what  you  saw  or  what  your  plan  is.  I  should  be  sure 
to  spoil  it  with  some  suggestion  of  my  own  which 
you  could  not  carry  out  nor  I  either.  What  I  want 
to  know  is  that  you  have  a  plan,  and  whether  there 
is  anything  I  can  do  to  aid  in  its  development?" 

"  There  are  some  difficulties  which  I  cannot  see 
my  way  clear  to  get  over,"  responded  Churr. 

"What  are  they?" 

"I  w^ant  an  opportunity  to  make  an  examination 
of  the  premises  without  the  presence  of — of — any  sus- 
pected parties." 

"Ah,  yes!  you  want  Thomas  Horton  out  of  the 
way  for  a  day  or  two." 

"Yes,  and  his  family." 

"  His  family !  But  I  don't  want  to  ask  any  ques- 
tions," said  W^oodley,  "only  don't  violate  the  law,  or 
the  proprieties  either,  far  enough  to  raise  any  suspicions 
against  an  innocent  man  which  you  may  not  be  able 
to  allay." 

"And  the  porter?"  asked  Markham. 

"  The  porter  is  entirely  trustworthy.  I  may  say  to 
you,  that  he  has  been  here  in  your  absence.  He  thinks 
Horton  must  have  done  this  or  been  privy  to  it,"  said 
Woodley. 

"  You  think,  then,  I  may  safely  conduct  my  exam- 
ination in  his  presence?"  pursued  Churr. 

"  That  does  not  follow,"  said  Woodley.  "  I  do  not 
believe  in  partnerships  in  such  secrets,  at  all.  Tliat  is 
one  reason  why  I  do  not  want  to  know  your  plan  of 
operation.     I    thought    you    might  want    to    look   over 


I30 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


the  place  alone.  So  I  told  the  porter  the  bank  would 
be  closed  for  a  few  days,  and  sent  Horton  away,  partly 
for  a  rest  and  partly  on  business.  He  and  his  wife 
vvill  go  to  New  York  to-night  to  assist  in  the  tracing 
of  this  matter,  as  he  thinks.  So  to-morrow  and  the  day 
after  you  vrill  be  at  liberty  to  make  any  investigation 
you  choose  without  interruption." 

"Very  well,  sir;  that  is  ail  for  the  present?" 
"  There  arc  one  or  two  facts  which  may  be  impor- 
tant for  you  to  know.  In  the  special  deposit  of  my 
own  vrhich  was  taken,  there  were  fifty  twenty-dollar 
bills  upon  the  Xenia  Branch  Bank.  It  is  a  new  issue. 
I  received  them  only  last  vreek  in  a  settlement  with 
the  bank,  and  there  are  not,  probably,  more  than  a 
dozen  others  in  circulation,  perhaps  not  any.  It  is  a 
bill  of  very  notable  appearance,  and  I  have  sent  to  the 
bank,  asking  them  to  issue  no  more,  and  to  call  in  this 
issue  by  private  notice  to  banks  and  brokers.  Mean- 
time they  will  send  me  specimens  of  the  bills,  one  of 
which  I  v/ill  put  in  your  hands.  If  at  any  time  you 
want  any  help,  come  to  me,  write,  or  telegraph,  with- 
out hesitation   or  delay." 

"You  will  be  here  to-morrow?"  asked  Churr, 
"I  shall    be    here    until   Horton's    return,"    vras  the 
reply. 

"And  will    go  vrith    me   to  the    bank  in  the  morn- 
ing ?" 

"  If  you  wish." 


CH AFTER  XVIII, 

THE    SEARCH. 

EARLY  next  morning,  Boaz  Woodley,  President  of 
the  Bank  of  A5xhitula,  opened  its  doors  to  Mark- 
ham  Chiirr,  and,  after  a  short  time,  closed  them  upon 
him  and  left  him  to  pursue  his  investigation. 

The  facts  Markham  observed  were  not  many.  They 
were : 

First,  the  print  of  the  boot-heel  in  the  soft  white- 
wood  plank,  of  which  he  took  an  impression  with  a 
piece  of  wax  that  he  had  brought  for  the  purpose. 

Second,  the  dust  upon  the  window-sill  above,  which 
had  been  recently  disturbed. 

Third,  a  piece  of  card-board  which,  after  having 
raised  the  window,  he  found  in  the  groove  in  which 
the  sash  worked.  He  guessed  its  purpose  at  once. 
The  bank  had  been  *'  planted"  before  it  was  robbed. 
This  card  had  been  placed  over  the  socket  of  the  bolt 
in  the  casing,  and  the  bolt  held  back  while  the  sash 
was  lowered.  Thus  kept  free,  the  sash  could  easily  be 
raised  from  the  outside  ;  and,  when  again  lowered,  the 
spring  would  push  aside  the  card  and  fly  back  to  its 
usual  position,  giving  it  the  undisturbed  appearance 
which  had  hitherto  diverted  attention  from  the  win- 
dow. He  observed,  too,  that  the  spring  fastenings  of 
the  iron  shutter  might  have  been  kept  up  by  slipping  a 

131 


132  ^^JGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

card  or  a  fold  of  stiff  paper  under  them,  so  as  to  be 
easily  opened  from  the  outside. 

Having  completed  his  examination  of  the  interior, 
he  passed  out  of  the  small  back  door  of  the  bank,  and 
along  the  board  fence  which  ran  a  few  feet  to  the  east- 
ward. It  occurred  to  him  that  the  entry  might  have 
been  made  by  setting  a  short  ladder  upon  the  upper 
railing  of  the  fence,  which  was  about  two  feet  below 
the  top  of  the  upright  boards,  and  inclining  it  against 
the  building.  On  examining  the  upper  side  of  this 
railing,  he  found  it  had  occasional  spots  of  sand  on  it. 
The  fence  ran  along  the  east  side  of  the  cashier's  gar- 
den, and  a  few  feet  from  it  was  the  dense  row  of  com- 
mon red  currant-bushes  sure  to  be  found  in  every 
kitchen-garden  of  that  region.  Passing  between  these 
and  the  fence,  he  found,  at  a  distance  of  five  or  six 
rods  from  the  bank,  the  deep  impress  of  a  foot  in  the 
moist  soil  of  the  garden.  After  a  moment's  examina- 
tion of  this  footprint,  which  was  clear  and  sharp,  he 
covered  it  with  a  piece  of  board  which  was  at  hand, 
and  that  afternoon  took  a  cast  of  it  in  plaster.  When 
he  afterwards  compared  this  with  the  impression  of 
the  heel  in  the  office,  he  saw  that  they  were  from  the 
same  boot,  corresponding  exactly.  On  the  outside  a 
nail  was  missing  in  each,  and  both  showed  the  heel  to 
be  worn  down  in  the  same  manner  behind. 

Thus  the  entire  machinery  of  the  crime,  he  thought, 
was  plain  before  him.  The  unused  window  had  been 
prepared  from  within  for  the  easily-effected  entrance; 
the  ladder  had  been  carried  along  the  fence  to  avoid 
foot-marks  in  the  soft  earth  about  the  bank ;  and  the 


THE    SEARCH.  j-^ 

entrance  made  and  exit  concealed  by  the  window. 
The  ladder  used  must  have  been  very  nearly  the  length 
of  one  which  leaned  against  one  of  the  fruit-trees  in 
the  cashier's  garden.  He  thought  it  probably  the  same. 
As  to  the  opening  of  the  vault  and  the  safe  he  had 
learned  nothing. 

He  wrote  down  all  these  things  separately,  and 
pondered  them  carefully.  Then  he  asked  himself:  Who 
did  tills?  and  the  words  seemed  to  trace  themselves — 
Thomas  Horton.  It  could  be  no  other.  He  remem- 
bered Boaz  Woodley's  belief,  and  his  argument  against 
this  hypothesis,  but  they  were  not  sufficient  to  affect 
'his  conviction.     He  v/as  sure  he  was  right. 

When  he  went  to  see  his  employer,  his  manner  so 
plainly  showed  his  exultation  that  Woodley  at  once 
said : 

"So  you  have  been  successful  in  your  search?" 
"  Yes,"   he    answered ;    "  at   least,    more    so   than    I 
really  expected  to  be." 

"Ah!  I  am  glad  of  that.  You  will  make  short 
work  of  it,  then  .?" 

"I  hope  so,"  answered  Markham.  "When  will 
Horton  return  V 

"'Still  harping  on  my  daughter'.?"  said  Woodley, 
with  a  slight  tone  of  irritation.  "You  are  running 
down  the  wind  on  that  trail,  as  I  told  you  before. 
But  perhaps  it  is  as  well.  You  think  your  trace  leads 
to  him,  and,  as  others  might  thiak  so  too,  it  is  well 
enough  that  you  should  follow  it  up  and  convince 
yourself  that  you  are  v/rong.  Just  go  on  in  your  own 
way,  therefore,  without    reference    to    my  ideas.     Hor- 


1 2^  FIGS  AND    THISTLES, 

ton  will  not  be  at  home  for  a  month  or  m^ore.  I 
have  sent  for  Warner,  vrho  was  the  first  cashier,  and  is 
an  expert  accountant.  Vv^ith  him,  '  I  shall  open  the 
bank,  and  go  over  the  books  and  vouchers  myself,  just 
to  show  the  public  that  I  made  no  mistake  when  I 
endorsed  Thomas  Horton  as  an  honest  man.  Mark 
my  words:  you  and  I  are  both  taking  different  roads 
to  the  same  end." 

Markham  half  sm.iled,  but  made  no  reply. 

He  wrote  a  strange  letter  to  Lizzie  that  night,  full 
of  vague  exaltation,  with  hints  of  wonderful  things 
which  had  happened  since  he  left  Fairbank,  of  impor- 
tant interests  which  demanded  his  presence,  and,  with 
many  terms  of  ardent  endearment,  signed  himself  her 
''  briefly-absent  lover,"  as  if  the  promised  land  of  mat- 
rimony were  in  sight.  Then  he  packed  his  precious 
casts  securely,  and  took  the  morning  express  for  New 
York. 

When  Eoaz  W^oodiey  learned  of  his  departure,  he 
smiled  grimly^  and  said  to  himself,  "  The  young  hound 
must  run  6n  a  false  scent  sometim.es.  If  he  is  of  the 
right  blood,  he  will  come  back  to  where  he  was  first 
at  fault  and  pick  up  the  trace  again  If  he  does  not, 
I  am  afraid  I  must  take  the  trail  myself.  I  hate  to 
think  of  running  a  man  dovvn,  too.  I  would  rather 
give  ten  times  the  money  I  have  offered.  However,  it 
must  be  done,  and  if  he  does  not  succeed  I  must 
do  it." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

A    MISFIT. 

A  MONTH  had  elapsed.  Markham  Churr  and  Liz- 
zie Harper  walked  together  again  upon  the  beach 
at  Fairbank.  He  had  just  been  telling  her  of  all  that 
had  befallen  him  since  his  last  visit — of  his  employ- 
ment by  Boaz  VVoodley,  his  apparent  success  and  actual 
failure. 

"And  so  Mr.  Horton's  foot  did  not  fit  the  cast," 
she  said,  with  a  low  laugh. 

"  Fit  the  cast !  I  should  think  not.  No  more  than 
my  big  track  in  the  sand  here  would  fit  a  cast  taken 
from  yours,"  he  answered,  glancing  back  along  the 
beach  where  they  had  walked. 

"It  is  really  too  bad,  but  I  can't  help  laughing," 
said  Lizzie.  And  she  sat  down  on  the  wave-worn  root 
of  an  old  sycamore  which  had  been  torn  from  its  Can- 
adian moorings  and  cast  .upon  the  beach  in  some 
terrific  autumn  norther,  and  gave  way  to  merry  laughter. 

Markham  smiled  at  the  musical  ripples  at  first,  but 
at  length  became  annoyed,  and,  sitting  down  upon  a 
rock  near  her,  began  to  kick  a  hole  in  the  packed 
sand,  in  evident  ill-humor,  as  he  waited  for  her  mirth 
to  subside. 

"I  am  sure,  Lizzie,  I  don't  see  what  you  find  so 
funny  in  it.  all,"  he  said,  at  length. 

135 


1^6  I^IGS  ^^'^    THISTLES. 

She  was  serious  enough  in  an  instant,  for  she  recog- 
nized his  ill-humor,  and  saw  at  once  that  her  mirth 
had  caused  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Markham,"  she  said,  hastily, 
putting  her  hand  on  his.  "  I  was  vrrong  to  laugh  at 
what  was  such  a  disappointment  to  you,  though  I  can- 
not but  be  glad  that  Mr.  Horcon's  foot  was  too  large 
for  your  measure,  and  amused  to  think  that  you  should 
build  such  high  hopes  on  the  chance." 

"  You  are  glad  that  I  am  foiled,  so  that  you  can 
laugh  at  me,"  he  said,  sullenly. 

"  I  am  glad  the  character  of  a  good  man  has  been 
vindicated,"  she  replied,  earnestly. 

"How  do  I  know  he  is  a  good  man?"  queried  her 
companion. 

"  He  has  borne  that  character  for  many  years,  and 
certainly  this  result  of  your  attempt  to  connect  him 
with  crime  does  not  impair  his  previous  reputation. 
What  surprises  me  is  that  you  should  have  had  such 
a  thought  at  all." 

"Well,  I  did  have  it,  and  made  a  fool  of  myself  in 
consequence,  it  appears,"  he  said. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  now.^"  she 
asked,  seeking  to  divert  his  thoughts. 

"Do!  I  shall  go  to  Mr.  Woodley  and  return  him 
the  balance  of  his  money,  after  deducting  a  month's 
wages,  and  give  the  matter  up,"  said  he,  fiercely.  "I 
ought  to  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  miserable 
affair.  But,  oh,  Lizzie  I  it  was  such  a  tempting  offer 
that  he  made  me;  and  I  thought  of  you.  The  two 
thousand  dollars  and  more  which  I    hoped-  to  get  was 


A    MISFIT. 


137 


not  so  much  money,  merely — it  was  a  snug  little  house 
and  lot  to  which  I  might  take  you  and  begin  life  with 
a  pleasant  home  and  a  fair  prospect.  Success  meant 
all  that  to  me,  and  my  heart  beat  faster  than  the  engine- 
strokes  as  I  hurried  on  to  New  York,  not  doubtful 
of  success.  I  did  not  dream  that  I  should  come  back, 
baffled  and  disappointed,  to  be  the  subject  of  your  ridi- 
cule."    He  was  looking  moodily  down  at  the  sand. 

She  was  down  on  her  knees  beside  him  in  an  in- 
stant, looking  up  into  his  face  with  her  soft  eyes  full 
of  the  reproachful  tears  of  grieving  love. 

"  Forgive  me,  Markham.  You  know  I  did  not 
mean  it  so,"  she  said.  "  I  did  not  think  that  you  would 
give  it  up  because  you  had  failed  in  one  attempt." 

"Give  it  up!  Why,  what  else  can  I  do}  Don't 
you  see  I  have  no  clue  since  that  hypothesis  has 
failed .''"  he  asked,   only  half  conciliated. 

"But  the  tracks,  the  casts?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  the  casts,"  he  answered,  smiling  in  spite  of 
his  disappointment.  "  You  ought  to  have  seen  me  when 
I  came  back  'to  my  room  in  the  hotel  after  viewing 
Mr.  Horton's  feet.  I  never  felt  so  foolish  in  my  life. 
I  suppose  it  was  a  consciousness  of  my  own  folly  which 
made  me  so  irritable  at  your  laughter.  There  I  was 
with  two  elegant  casts — one  of  a  boot-heel  and  the 
other  of  the  whole  sole — looking  through  humanity 
for  a  foot  to  match.  One  chance  in  a  hundred  millions, 
perhaps,  of  success!  I  could  not  but  laugh  at  it  then, 
myself." 

"I  did  not  laugh  at  that,  Markham,"  she  said,  with 
a  sly  look  into  his  face. 


138 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


"  Then  what  did  you  laugh  at,  pray,  if  not  at  my 
failure  nor  my  odd  position,  eh?"  He  took  her  chin 
and  turned  her  blushing  face  towards  him.  "  You  owe 
me  a  kiss  for  laughing  at  all." 

Whether  it  w^as  a  bona  fide  debt  or  not,  he  claimed 
payment  and  took  it  without  opposition ;  then  went  on : 

"  What  were  you  laughing  at,  you  rogue .''  Tell  me 
this  instant,  or  I  will  have  another!" 

*'You  promise  not  to  be  angry.?"  she  asked,  archly. 

"Pshaw!  I  was  not  angry.  I  couldn't  be  angry 
with  you,  dear.  Only  my  disappointment  was  so  bitter 
and  your  presence  brought  it  up  so  freshly  to  my 
mind  !"  he  answered,  caressingly. 

"  And  you  promise  V   she  persisted. 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  have  it,  I  promise ;  nay,  I  will 
swear  and  kiss  the  book  if  you  wish."  And  he  took 
tribute  of  her  lips  again. 

"That  is  quite  an  unnecessary  formality,  sir,"  she 
said,  with  pretended  displeasure. 

*'  Then  tell  me  why  you  laughed,  before  it  is  re- 
peated." 

"  Oh,  I  laughed  at  your  going  to  New  York  to  learn 
the  size  of  Mr.  Horton's  foot." 

"  Why,  how  else  could  I  find  out  }  He  carried  his 
foot  with  him." 

"Of  course  he  did,"  she  answered,  smiling;  "but 
not  his  shoemaker." 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  he,  ruefully.  "  It  wasn't  a 
very  sharp  trick  for  a  detective,  was  it  ?" 

"But  you  promised — not  to  be  angry,"  she  said, 
doubtfully. 


A    MISFIT.  139 

"Of  course  I  did,  and  I  am  not;  but  this  convinces 
me  all  the  more  that  I  ought  not  to  have  touched  this 
business.     I  will  give  it  up  at  once."        ^ 

"  And  how  about  the  two  thousand  dollars,  and 
the — the — V  she  said,  blushing  and  looking  down. 

"  The  partnership,  you  mean.  Oh,  that  must  go, 
too,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  v/ish  I  had  never  thought 
of  it,  then  I  should  not  have  been  disappointed.  But 
I  was  half  afraid  you  would  not  like  that  part  of  the 
bargain — a  partnership  with  Boaz  Woodley." 

"I  did  not  refer  to  that  partnership,"  she  said,  de- 
murely, while  the  blush  grew  hotter. 

"Indeed!"  said  he,  laughing  at  her  pretty  embar- 
rassment over  her  own  jest.  "  You  are  too  sharp  for 
me  to-day.  Yet,  is  it  not  too  bad  to  jest  over  such 
sweet  anticipations  when  one  knows  they  are  all 
blighted  r 

"Are  they?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"  Are  they  ?  Really,  Lizzie,  you  are  determined  to 
drive  me  to  desperation  to-day.  Don't  you  know  that 
my  only  chance  is  to  find  the  thief  who  broke  into  the 
bank,  and  recover  the  package.?  Here  it  is,"  he  added, 
pulling  his  account -book  from  his  pocket,  "written 
down  on  the  first  page  of  this,  in  Boaz  Woodley 's  own 
handwriting,  as  fine  and  delicate  as  if  the  hand  that 
traced  it  were  a  lady's  instead  of  a  giant's — every  letter 
as  complete  and  perfect  as  if  made  by  machinery ;  not 
a  particle  of  shade,  effort,  or  ornamentation  about  it. 
Read  it  for  yourself,  and  say  what  you  think  of  the 
man." 

Lizzie  took  the  book,  and  read  : 


I40  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

^^ Mem.  —  The  following  contract  made  this  loth 
July,  i860,  between  Markham  Churr  and  Boaz  Wood- 
ley.  The  said  Markham  Churr  undertakes  to  serve 
the  said  Boaz  Woodley  by  identifying  and  apprehend- 
ing, if  within  his  power,  the  person  or  persons  who 
broke  and  robbed  the  vault  of  the  Aychitula  Bank  on 
the  night  of  the  9th  of  the  current  month,  and  not  to 
abandon  search  for  said  parties  until  he  is  thoroughly 
satisfied  that  further  inquiry  would  be  vain.  Said 
Woodley  agrees  to  pay  said  Churr  (i)  $100  per  mo. 
while  engaged  in  said  search  ;  (2)  his  reasonable  ex- 
penses while  thus  engaged  ;  (3)  if  he  should  succeed 
in  apprehending  said  robbers,  or  any  one  of  them, 
$1,000  additional;  (4)  should  he  also  secure  a  certain 
parcel  belonging  to  said  Woodley,  taken  from  said 
vault,  then  $1,000  more  additional,  and  a  partnership 
with  said  Woodley  in  the  practice  of  the  law,  at  the 
option  of  said  Churr.  $500  advanced  by  said  Wood- 
ley  on  account.  "Boaz  Woodley. 

*'  Markham  Churr." 

She  half  shrvered  as  she  returned  the  book. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  client — or  patron, 
rather  .^"  asked  Markham.  ^ 

''He  will  find  this  man  if  you  do  not,"  she  replied. 

"  Why  do  you  say  so  ?" 

"Because  he  never  forgives  an  injury  nor  forgets  it 
either.  The  man  who  wrote  that  knows  but  two  classes 
of  mortals — servants  and  enemies — those  who  do  his 
pleasure  and  tho«e  who  balk  it;  and  he  will  never 
forget   nor   neglect  to   reward  the  one    and   to  punish 


A    MISFIT.  141 

the  other.     He  cares  for  none,  except   as  they  are   re- 
lated to  himself  and  his  interests." 

"  But  how  can  he  find  him  with  no  more  clue  than 
I  have  ?" 

"He  would  find  him  with  half  that,"  she  replied. 

"You  think,  then,  that   I  have  given  up  too  soon.'* 

"You  have  not  given  up  at  all.  You  would  no 
more  go  to  this  man  of  iron,  who  knows  no  such  word 
as  fail,  and  -confess  that  you  could  not  catch  this  thief 
whom  you  have  traced  thus  far  by  signs  which  had 
escaped  all  others — you  could  not  do  it — any  more  than 
the  prince  could  give  up  the  search  for  Cinderella  after 
he  had  found  her  slipper." 

He  sat  in  moody  silence. 

"  She  rose  and  stood  before  him,  with  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  I  know  you  will  succeed,  Markham,  and  Boaz 
Woodley  knew  it  too  when  he  wrote  that  contract.  At 
the  s^me  time  he  knew  it  would  require  a  great  effort 
and  untiring  patience.  That  is  why  he  added  the  part- 
nership proposal.  He  knew  that  you  would  prize  a 
position  in  your  profession — an  opportunity  to  do — 
above  all  the  money  he  could  offer.  He  must  be  a 
wonderful  man  to    have  read  you  so  closely  at  once." 

"He  seems  to  have  ueen  mistaken  this  time,  any- 
how," said   Markham,  gloomily. 

•'  Not  at  all,"  she  said,  caressingly.     "  You  are  tired 

and   overstrained  with  disappointment.     Stay  here  and 

rest  a    few  days,  and  you  will  think  differently  of  it." 

And  thus  the  wise  little  lady  kept  her  down-hearted 

lover  within  the  ran2:e  of  her  influence  till  his  fit  of 


1^2  J^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

the  blues  had  worn  away,  and  the  sunshine  was  golden 
to  his  eyes  once  more.  Meantime,  she  did  not  let  the 
matter  which  he  had  in  hand  escape  his  attention  or 
her  own.  Her  earnest  and  devoted  nature  had  already 
taken  upon  itself  the  wifely  spirit,  and  she  was  unweary- 
ing in  her  effort  to  assist  and  encourage  him. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

HI,  on! 

LIZZIE  HARPER  feU  the  full  force  of  the  com- 
pliment which  Boaz  Woodley's  selection  of  her 
lover  for  this  delicate  and  important  task  implied,  both 
to  that  lover  himself  and  to  the  woman  who  had  linked 
her  life  with  his. 

It  was  the  first  endorsement  which  the  wor-^  had 
given  to  her  judgment  of  his  capacity.  He  had  ranked 
high  as  a  scholar.  His  friends  and  his  college  were 
proud  of  his  attainments.  But  she  well  knew  that  such 
honors  were  but  a  poor  guarantee  for*  success  in  life. 
Lizzie  Harper  was  ambitious.  Her  first  intuitions  in 
regard  to  Markham  Churr,  when  he  was  but  an  awk- 
ward school-boy,  were,  that  there  was  in  him  the  possi- 
bility of  a  more  than  ordinary  life.  Admiration  of  his 
power  was  an  element  of  her  love — an  element  which 
had  never  been  absent  from  her  dreams  of  their  united 
life.  Her  Markham  was  to  be  a  great  man,  and  she 
was  to  aid  him  in  attaining  greatness. 


HL  ON  I 


143 


Perhaps  no  ^ther  man's  recognition  of  her  future 
husband's  capacity  would  have  given  her  equal  satis- 
faction with  Boaz  Woodley's,  His  experience  and  suc- 
cess, his  reputation  as  an  ahiiost  unerring  judge  of 
men,  the  unsym.pathizing  selfishness  with  which  he  was 
credited,  all  tended  to  make  his  judgment  of  a  man's 
ability  of  the  very  highest  value.  She  comprehended, 
too,  that  the  task  for  which  Markham  had  been  selected 
was  one  not  only  of  difficulty  and  delicacy,  but  of  vital 
importance  to  Boaz  Woodley.  She  was  sure  there  v/as 
something  more  than  mere  loss  of  money  involved. 
The  apparent  value  of  the  package  which  had  been 
taken  did  not  seem  to  justify  the  efforts  which  he  put 
forth  for  its  recovery.  The  reward  v/as  disproportionate 
with  the  loss  he  seem^ed  to  have  sustained.  He  must 
have  a  greater  interest  at  stake  than  he  had  yet  re- 
vealed, to  induce  him  to  make  this  offer ;  it  must  have 
been  in  the  expectation  of  great  efforts  and  the  hope 
of  great  results.  Her  pride  in  her  betrothed  was  staked 
in  a  peculiar  manner  on  his  success  in  this  venture. 

So  this  woman,  wise  through  the  anxious  pre- 
science of  love,  determined  that  she  would  second  in 
every  manner  in  her  power  Boaz  Woodley's  wishes. 
It  seemed  impossible  to  her  that,  with  the  clue  he 
had  obtained,  Markham  should  be  unable  to  unravel 
the  mystery  of  this  crime.  She  was  sure  the  key  was 
very  near  his  hand,  and,  if  he  would  but  diligently 
analyze  his  data^  now  that  his  mind  was  disabused  of 
a  false  hypothesis,  he  would  soon  find  it.  She  hinted 
this  to  him,  now  and  then  dwelling  upon  her  confi- 
dence in  his  success  and  the  happy  results  which  would 


144  ^^^^  ^^^    THISTLES. 

flow  from  it,  thus  gradually  withdrawgig  his  mind  from 
new  schemes  that  he  was  already  revolving  for  the 
future,  and  redirecting  it  to  this  as  the  speediest 
method  of  arriving  at  the  consummation  of  their 
hopes. 

At  first,  such  intimations  were  very  repugnant  to 
him,  and  only  produced  annoyance.  This  she  would 
carefully  soothe  at  the  time,  but  was  sure  to  return  to 
the  subject  again,  always  making  her  love  the  excuse 
for  her  "  thoughtlessness"  in  doing  so.  After  a  while 
he  began  to  talk  of  it  also,  to  laugh  at  her  idea  as 
absurd,  and  to  declare  that,  after  the  hypothesis  of  the 
cashier's  guilt  was  abandoned,  there  was  nothing  in 
what  he  had  learned  to  sustain  a  theory  of  the  guilt  of 
any  other  person. 

At  length  it  came  to  occupy  his  thought  almost  to 
the  exclusion  of  every  other  subject,  and  one  day  she 
found  him  in  a  deep  study,  with  the  plaster  casts  and 
his  memoranda  all  spread  out  on  the  table  before  him. 
She  very  wisely  kept  away  and  left  him  much  to  him- 
self after  that,  until  he  began  to  seek  her  out  and  talk 
about  the  matter.  Her  love  and  prudence  spurred  him 
to  a  further  effort,  which  the  flattering  rewards  of  Boaz 
Woodley  had  failed  to  secure. 

"If  I  could  only  unravel  this  mystery!"  he  said  to 
her  one  day.  "I  know  I  am  foolish  to  think  of  it  so 
much,  but  somehow  I  cannot  escape  from  it." 

Then  she  led  him  on,  deftly  and  prudently,  to  re- 
view again  all  that  he  had  learned  of  the  crime.  See- 
ing her  interested,  he  recounted  to  her  his  examination 
of  the  building  and  premises  with  great  minuteness. 


HI,  ON!  145 

When  he  came  to  tell  of  how  the  window  had  been 
prepared  beforehand  for, the  contemplated  crime,  he 
showed  her  the  card  which  he  had  found  inside  the 
frame,  and  explained  how  he  had  gathered,  from  the 
mark  of  the  spring-bolt  upon  it,  the  purpose  for  which 
it  had  been  used. 

She  held  the  card  as  he  went  on  with  the  explana- 
tion, gazing-  at  it  absently.  Her  work  had  fallen  from 
her  lap.  She  read  the  words  on  the  card  over  and 
over  again,  quite  unconsciously.  Rather  more  than 
one-half  of  it  had  been  torn  off,  including  the  right- 
hand  lower  corner,  leaving  a  ragged,  irregular  edge, 
extending  from  near  the  right-hand  upper  corner  to  the 
lower  edge,  further  to  the  left.  One  side  presented 
the  following  appearance : 


JOHNS 

WHOLESALE     AA 

N.E.    Cor 


The  other  side,  with  a  memorandum  written  across 


146  F^G^  AND    THISTLES. 

one  end  in  a  clear,  rapid  business  hand,  was  as  follows: 


No. 

12,063 

C. 

$18.00 

P. 

6. 

V. 

3.50 

27.50 

6/9/60. 
S 

1 

Lizzie  laid  it  upon  her  knee,  pointing  her  needle 
along  the  printed  address  as  she  read  and  re-read  it 
while  listening  to  his  words.  When  he  ceased,  she 
still  continued  the  act  she  had  been  unconsciously 
repeating.  Markham  noticed  it,  and  smiled  at  her 
absorption.  Gradually  the  letters  shaped  themselves 
intelligently  into  words  in  her  mind.  They  seemed  to 
her  to  have  some  occult  connection  with  the  crime. 

"Could  not  this  card  and  memorandum  be  traced.-*" 
she  asked.     "It  might  give  you  a  clue." 


HI,  ONI  147 

"  There  Is  little  chance,"  he  replied.  "  The  mem- 
orandum was  probably  made  by  the  thief  himself." 

"Still  it  may  not  have  been.  I  would  try,"  she 
persisted. 

Markham  gazed  at  the  card  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  suddenly  snatched  it  from  her  hand,  ran  out  of 
the  door,  and  down  the  lane  to  the  beach,  where  he 
wandered  back  and  forth  in  silent  thought  for  more 
than  an  hour. 

Lizzie  glowed  with  satisfaction  as  she  watched  him 
disappear,  and  then  went  on  with  her  sewing,  uttering 
now  and  then  little  snatches  of  song  and  smiling  softly 
to  herself,  until  the  sun  began  to  shine  into  the  western 
window  under  the  low-branching  cherry-trees  which 
grew  over  it.  Then  she  picked  up  her  lover's  hat,  and 
went  to  seek  him.  They  talked  long  and  seriously  of 
the  new  idea  which  her  "  chance  "  remark  had  stirred 
in  his  mind ;  and  the  next  day  he  took  the  train  again 
to  seek  the  trail  of  the  offender,  not  with  such  san- 
guine hope  as  before,  but  with  a  stubborn  resoluteness 
of  purpose  which  promised  quite  as  well  for  success. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

WITCH-HAZEL. 


AFTER  Markham  had  gone,  the  thought  of  Lizzie 
Harper    was    still    as    busy    in    the    matter   upon 
which  her  absent  lover  was  engaged  as  his  own  could 


148  PIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

be.  Again  and  again  she  went  over  his  description  of 
the  premises,  his  search,  and  its  results,  in  the  hope 
that  she  might  discover  something  of  importance  be- 
fore unnoted.  After  a  time,  she  became  possessed  with 
an  uncontrollable  desire  to  view  the  scene  of  the  rob- 
bery. She  had  a  general  knowledge  of  the  town,  hav- 
ing often  been  there,  but  she  wanted  to  gaze  hour  after 
hour  upon  the  place  where  the  crime,  which  her  Mark- 
ham  was  endeavoring  to  unravel,  had  been  perpetrated. 
Somehow,  it  seemed  as  if  she  might  guess  at  something 
worth  knowing  if  she  could  do  so.  Of  course,  what 
Markham  could  not  see,  she  would  look  for  in  vain 
unless  she  sought  a  long  time,  she  thought.  But  she 
would  search  a  long  time.  She  had  nothing  else  to 
do.  Then  her  mind  recurred  to  the  fact  that  she  had 
been  very  derelict  in  returning  a  certain  visit  made  to 
her  in  the  school-girl  era — ages  ago,  it  seemed.  It 
was,  in  fact,  but  little  more  than  a  twelvemonth ;  but 
what  an  eternity  is  that  in  young  maidenhood,  when 
love  is  sole  tenant  of  the  bounding  lieart !  Now,  how- 
ever, her  conscience  smote  her,  suddenly  and  strangely, 
for  her  neglect  of  friendly  duty. 

So  she  straightway  opened  her  writing-desk,  and 
indited  an  epistle  to  her  half-forgotten  crony,  Amy 
Levis,  of  Aychitula,  in  the  sloped  style  of  penmanship 
known  in  that  region  as  the  "  Spencerian,"  and  re- 
garded as  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  chirographic  art. 

In  those  days  it  was  in  its  most  brilliant  glory, 
when  the  gray-bearded  old  humorist  who  claimed  its 
origin,  and  who,  in  a  sort  of  mock  egotism,  had  given 
it  his  name — old  "Piatt  R." — presided  in  his  log  acad- 


WITCH-HAZEL.  14^ 

emy,  and  went  up  and  down  the  land,  explaining,  illus- 
trating, and  enforcing  the  principles  and  practice  of 
th2  science  and  art  of  penmanship.  He  used  to  claim 
a  sort  of  inspiration  for  it — saying  that  it  had  all  come 
t(3  him  in  a  vision  as  he  wandered  on  the  shores  of 
the  lake,  and  that  he  first  traced  the  characters  of  the 
new  system  in  the  moist  sands.  It  was  revealed  not 
far  from  where  the  Mormon  Bible  was  professedly  found 
by  Joe  Smith,  and  proceeded  from  the  same  sort  of 
inspiration,  to  wit :  keen  Yankee  shrewdness.  And, 
indeed,  the  old  man's  skill  not  a  little  justified  the 
claim  of  inspiration.  Not  only  the  skill  with  which 
he  wrote,  but  the  ease  with  which  he  taught,  entitled 
him  to  the  name  of  the  "Wizard  of  the  Pen,"  in  which 
he  so  delighted.  His  kindly,  genial  nature  an^i  genuine 
pride  in  the  graphic  art  impressed  him  strongly  upon 
all;  and  many  an  old-growing  heart  of  to-day  re- 
calls, as  a  reminiscence  of  youthful  days,  the  square- 
cut,  gray  beard  and  mustache,  the  long,  sharp  nose, 
and  eyes  scintillating  with  humor  under  his  shaggy 
brows. 

Perhaps  no  one  has  more  characteristically  im- 
pressed himself  on  that  section  of  the  country  than 
he.  Many  a  schoolboy,  as  he  ponders  the  mysteries 
of  this  "  system,"  recalls  his  father's  story  of  how  old 
"  Piatt  R.,"  starting  from  a  maudlin  stupor  in  a  bar- 
room, in  the  old  stage-coach  days,  challenged  a  New 
Yorker  who  was  boasting  of  his  penmanship  to  write 
with  his  fingers  as  v/ell  as  Piatt  could  with  his  toes, 
and  how,  the  wager  being  accepted,  they  took  off  his 
boot    and    stocking,  and    put    a    pen  between  his   toes, 


I50 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


with  which  he  easily  vanquished  the  boastful  "  down- 
easter."  Yes,  he  was  inspired — with  that  supremely 
practical  wisdom  called  ''American,"  which  coins 
thoughts  into  dollars,  and  divines  at  once  the  needs  and 
genius  of  his  fellows.  He  saw  that  the  leading,  governing 
idea  of  the  American  mind  was  economy  of  tiine^  and 
he  therefore  devised  a  system  of  chirography  which 
admits  of  the  greatest  possible  speed  of  execution. 
Beauty  or  legibility  it  had  not:  except  in  his  hands  or 
that  of  a  few  masters;  but  it  suited  the  American  need, 
as  being  a  rapid  and  easily-acquired  system  of  thought- 
delineation. 

In  this  characteristic  hand  Lizzie  indited  her  epistle, 
stating  the  day  and  hour  on  which  she  would  arrive  at 
Aychitula  on  a  visit  to  her  friend.  This  sudden  deter- 
mination to  pay  a  long-neglected  visit  may  or  may  not 
be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  the  premises  of  her 
friend's  father  overlooked,  to  the  northward,  the  cash- 
ier's garden  and  the  Bank  of  Aychitula. 

At  the  time  appointed,  Lizzie  arrived,  and  was 
welcomed  with  that  exuberance  of  warmth  with  which 
the  young  woman  always  seeks  to  revive  the  remem- 
brance of  her  school-days.  She  was  installed  in  the 
second  story  of  the  north  wing,  overlooking  the  prem- 
ises which  she  especially  desired  to  scrutinize. 

*'I  have  given  you  this  room,"  said  Amy,  as  she 
seated  herself  upon  the  broad,  low  sill  of  the  wide 
window,  "because  it  is  the  very  coolest  in  the  house. 
How  horribly  hot  it  is!  Haven't  you  almost  melted 
this  summer.?"  And  she  herself  looked  hot  enough  to 
attempt  the  experiment  as  she  knotted  her  brows  and, 


-   \     O-il  WITCH-HAZEL.  i^l 

lifting  her  mass  of  hair  fretfully  from  her  neck,  looked 
at  her  visitor. 

Lizzie,  in  her  buff  traveling-suit,  with  white  cuffs 
and  collar,  raised  her  large  gray  eyes  composedly,  and 
replied : 

"I  haven't  noticed  that  it  was  warmer  than  usual." 

"Not  noticed!"  replied  Amy.  "Really,  I  believe 
nothing  ever  does  disturb  you ;  but  I  suppose  you  do 
not  feel  the  heat  so  much  on  the  lake  shore. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  assented  Lizzie. 

"Well,"  continued  the  voluble  hostess,  "you  can 
see  the  lake  from  here.  I  thought  you  could  not  be 
contented  out  of  sight  of  white-caps;  so  yonder  they 
are."  And  she  pointed  avray  over  the  village  to  a 
bit  of  darker  blue  in  the  northern  horizon,  on  which 
the  v/hite- crested  waves  were  chasing  each  other  in 
the  sunshine. 

"It  does  look  cool,  in  spite  of  the  glitter,"  said  her 
guest,  languidly. 

"  But  you  will  have  to  keep  your  windows  closed  at 
night — for,  right  yonder,  you  know,  is  the  bank  which 
was  broken  into  a  while  back,  and  robbed  so  skillfully 
that  no  one  can  find  out  either  how  it  was  done  or 
who  did  it." 

The  gossip  had  struck  the  right  key  now,  and  had 
an  attentive  listener  at  once.  Lizzie  came  and  stood 
beside  her  friend  at  the  window,  while  she  pointed 
out  the  bank,  the  cashier's  house,  and  the  fence  which 
ran  along  the  east  side  of  the  bank  and  continued 
until  it  struck  the  premises  of  Amy's  father. 

"  So  nobody  knows  who  did  it.^"  said  Lizzie,  thought- 


152 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


fully,  but  with  an  exultant  voice  in  her  heart  which 
said  all  the  time,  "My  Markham  knows." 

"No,"  replied  Amy.  "They  had  detectives,  and 
all  that,  but  no  one  could  get  any  clue  to  it  at  all,  unless 
Alarkham  Churr  has." 

She  watched  Lizzie  narrowly  as  she  spoke,  but  the 
great  gray  eyes  and  placid  features  told  no  tales  to 
reward  her  scrutiny. 

"Markham  Churr,"  Lizzie  said,  quietly,  "had  he 
anything  to  do  with  it?" 

"Had  he?  Of  course  you  know,  Lizzie,  whether 
he  had  or  not,"  Amy  rejoined,  half  petulantly.  "But 
you  need  not  be  afraid  of  me.  I  saw  him  watching 
and  measuring — or  doing  something  about  the  grounds 
— just  yonder  at  the  foot  of  that  row  of  cherry-trees 
which  runs  down  to  the  fence." 

Lizzie  looked  as  she  pointed  to  a  row  of  trees  run- 
ning from  the  cashier's  house  eastward.  "It  v.^as  just 
beyond  that  dead  currant-bush  you  see,"  Amy  con- 
tinued. "  By  the  way,  I  don't  see  what  made  that  bush 
die.  It  was  not  dead  then,  and  it  cannot  be  the  slug. 
You  see  it  has  all  its  leaves  on  it.  It  has  just  shriveled 
and  died  without  any  cause,  it  seems  to  me. 

"  I  Vv-as  sitting  here  a  day  or  two  after  the  robbery, 
and  I  saw  Markham  go  along  the  fence  there,  looking 
very  earnestly  at  it.  Then  he  seemed  to  be  doing 
something,  I  could  not  make  out  what,  among  the 
bushes  there.  I  thought  then  he  was  just  prying  about, 
as  so  many  others  had  done,  from  idle  curiosity,  but 
when  I  heard  that  he  had  closed  his  office  in  Rexville, 
I  concluded  that  he  had  found  some  clue  to  the  rob- 


WITCH-HA  ZEL.  153 

bcry;  and  so  I  kept  still  about  what  I  had  seen,  lest 
I  should  hurt  his  prospects." 

Lizzie  was  about  to  acknowledge  the  fact — it  was 
the  first  time  she  had  felt  any  temptation  to  disclose 
it  to  any  one — of  the  search  in  v/hich  Markham  was 
engaged,  but  the  next  words  of  her  friend  sealed  her 
lips  closer  then  ever. 

"  I  am  sure,"  Amy  continued.  "  I  hope  he  will 
find  out  all  about  it.  Do  you  know,  Mother  has  broken 
off  my  correspondence  with  Frank  Horton  on  account 
of  this  thing.  You  know  there  was  some  intimacy 
between  us,"  she  added,  with  burning  cheeks.  "We 
grew  up  here  together  and  have  always  kept  up  a  sort 
of  flirtation  until  this  happened.  I  really  think  Mother 
believes  old  Mr.  Horton  stole  the  money.  No,  not  quite 
so  bad  as  that,  either,"  she  added,  with  a  little  uneasy 
laugh,  "but  you  know  people  will  talk,  and  Mother 
thinks  the  whole  family  are  under  a  cloud,  and  declares 
that  I  shall  not  write  to  Frank  again  until  this  matter 
is  cleared  up.  It  does  look  bad,  1  know,  and  I  hope 
Markham  will  find  out  all  about  it.  I  am  sure  it  will 
come  out  all  right,  for  it  is  just  absurd  to  think  of  Mr. 
Horton's  having  anything  to  do  with  it." 

Lizzie  put  her  arm  caressingly  about  her  friend's 
neck  as  she  stood  beside  her,  but  said  nothing,  and 
Amy  continued: 

"  Frank  has  been  pretty  wild,  I  know,  but  I  think 
this  has  sobered  him.  He  has  gone  back  to  college 
now  and  is  working  hard.  This  is  his  last  year,  you 
know — and — and  we  hoped  to  have  been  married  next 
fall,"   continued    i\.my,   as   her   blushes  and    tears  con- 


154  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

tended  for  the  mastery.  ^'  Poor  fellow !  You  don't 
know  him,  Lizzie.  I  am  sure  3'ou  would  like  him. 
He  is  not  such  a  staid,  earnest  fellow  as  Markham 
Churr,  but  the  best,  bravest,  noblest  fellow  in  the  world 
— the  very  best." 

For  two  days,  Lizzie  Harper  spent  every  moment 
she  could  steal,  of  night  or  day,  in  gazing  upon  the 
scene  of  the  crime.  She  recalled  for  the  thousandth 
time  all  she  had  heard  about  it,  and  sought  to  add 
some  item  to  what  was  already  known,  which  would 
advance  the  search  ;  but  it  was  not  so  easy  as  she  had 
imagined.  She  tried  in  vain  to  wring  from  the  scene 
before  her  the  secret  she  wished  to  learn.  Her  fond- 
ness for  solitude  and  her  chamber  surprised  her  friend, 
and  Amy's  father  jocularly  accused  her  of  being  affected 
by  the  sudden  disappearance  of  a  young  lawyer  in  a 
neighboring  tov/n.  But  it  was  of  no  use  to  try  to 
banter  her.  She  was  as  gay  as  ever  when  with  others, 
and  evidently  happy  and  contented. 

On  the  third  night  she  came  to  her  room  earlier 
than  usual,  and  sat  down  for  a  long  time  in  the  open 
window,  gazing  upon  the  premises  adjoining,  her  whole 
soul  absorbed  in  reverie.  The  village  vras  as  still  as 
the  grave,  and  the  moon  \yas  just  setting  wlien  she 
sought  her  couch.  The  summer  night  was  dark,  and 
the  wind  blew  chill  from  the  distant  lake  when  she 
av/oke — to  find  herself,  not  in  the  bed,  but  standing, 
with  straining  eyes  and  creeping  flesh,  gazing  into  the 
grounds  she  had  so  often  surveyed.  Despite  the  dark- 
ness, she  seemed  to  see  every  bush  and  twig  with  the 
utmost  distinctness.     The  cool  night-breeze  made   her 


WITCH-HAZEL.  i^^ 

shiver.  She  put  on  a  thick  wrapper  and  belted  it  close 
about  her.  She  shivered  still.  Her  teeth  chattered 
as  with  an  ague.  She  walked  about  to  calm  herself. 
It  was  useless.  Her  whole  being  was  shaken  with  ex- 
citement. Again  and  again  she  came  back  to  the  win- 
dow and  peered  intently  in  the  direction  of  the  bank. 
She  told  herself  that  her  excitement  was  foolish.  She 
lay  down  upon  the  bed,  but  in  a  moment  was  at  the 
window  again.  Then  she  opened  her  door  and  lis- 
tened. All  was  silent.  She  groped  in  the  closet  until 
she  found  a  pair  of  India-rubber  over-shoes  slie  had 
noticed  there,  put  them  on  without  shoes  or  stockings, 
and  stole  silently  and  quickly  along  the  hall,  down 
the  stairs  and  into  the  dining-room. 

Amy's  father  and  mother  slept  in  a  room  opening 
off  from  this.  She  paused  a  moment  and  listened  to 
their  regular  breathing,  then  passed  swiftly  across, 
turned  the  key  softly,  threw  open  the  door  and  stepped 
out  upon  the  porch.  Passing  down  the  steps  she 
turned  northward  along  the  path,  now  somewhat  ne- 
glected, which  led  to  a  little  gate  between  the  premises 
she  was  on  and  those  of  the  cashier.  Half-way  to 
the  boundary  she  paused,  turned  back  and  went  around 
the  house  to  the  wood-shed  door,  opened  it,  went  in, 
and  felt  for  a  spade  she  had  seen  hanging  beside  one 
of  the  posts ;  found  it,  came  out  and  ran  back  to  the 
gate.  She  passed  through  this  and  walked  straight 
along  the  garden -path,  as  if  it  had  been  at  noon  instead 
of  midnight,  until  she  came  to  the  row  of  cherry- 
trees.  Here  she  stopped  for  a  moment  and  pressed 
her  hand  upon  her  heart,  as  if  in  terror,  and   looked 


156  f-^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

hastily  about,  then,  turning  to  the  right,  walked  directly 
to  the  currant-bush  whose  sudden  death  had  been  a 
matter  of  so  great  surprise  to  her  friend.  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  and  then,  reaching  out  her  hand,  seized 
some  of  the  long  scraggy  branches  and  gave  a  strong, 
steady  pull.  The  whole  bush  yielded  and  was  drawn 
slowly  towards  her.  She  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  fell 
upon  the  ground.  She  lay  for  a  few  moments  in  a 
strange  limp  heap,  and  then  raised  her  head  in  a  dull, 
surprised  way  and  looked  around.  She  had  fainted 
from  excitement.  After  a  short  time  she  rose  hastily, 
grasped  the  bush  with  both  hands,  and  pulled  it,  with 
the  turf  and  earth  attached,  from  its  place.  It  had 
evidently  been  carefully  cut  out  and  replaced.  Taking 
the  spade,  she  began  digging  where  it  had  stood.  It 
was  no  new  implement  to  her  hands,  as  her  own  little 
parterre  of  flowers  at  Fairbank  could  abundantly  testify, 
and  she  used  it  handily  and  effectively.  At  length  she 
felt  it  strike-  something  metallic.  She  redoubled  her 
efforts  and  soon  found  that  she  could  trace  its  form 
with  the  spade.  Then  she  knelt  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  little  pit  she  had  dug  and,  groping  in  the  loose 
earth,  found  a  handle,  and,  with  some  exertion,  drew 
forth  a  small  tin-box.  She  rose  and  turned  as  if  about 
to  leave,  stopped  a  moment,  and  then,  setting  down 
the  box,  replaced  the  earth  she  had  taken  out  and  set 
the  bush  firmly  in  its  original  position,  leveling  the 
earth  and  settling  it  in  its  place  with  her  foot,  as  a 
gardener  does  when  planting  trees. 

Then    she    snatched   up   the   box  and  fled,  like  an 
affrighted  thing,  along  the  path  to  the  little  gate,  ran 


WITCII-JIAZEL,  j^j 

around  to  the  wood-shed  door,  just  thrust  the  spade 
inside,  not  waiting  to  hang  it  up,  entered,  and  closed 
the  dining-room  door,  flew  noiselessly  to  her  own  room 
and  thrust  the  box  inside  her  great  Saratoga  trunk, 
without  regard  for  its  previous  contents,  shut  down  the 
lid  and  locked  it,  took  out  the  key,  and,  with  it  clasped 
tightly  in  her  hand,  sprung  into  her  bed,  moaning  and 
trembling  in  uncontrollable  excitement.  The  secret  she 
had  vainly  sought  awake  had  come  to  her  in  sleep ! 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly — the  early  chimes  of 
the  village  bells  were  coming  in  at  the  window,  and 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Amy  was  calling,  "Lizzie!" 
when  she  awoke   that  Sabbath  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

FOR  SWEET  love's  SAKE, 

LIZZIE  sat  up  and  looked  about  in  amazement. 
How  she  came  to  be  encased  in  that  dark  wrap- 
per, wearing  those  soiled  rubbers,  and  lying  upon  the 
outside  of  the  bed,  she  could  not,  for  a  moment,  under- 
stand. There  was  a  dull,  heavy  pain  in  her  head,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  a  dim  memory  of  something  very 
awful  hanging  about  her. 

"  Lizzie  !"  called  again  the  shrill  voice  at  the  stair- 
foot.  "  I  declare,  Ma,"  said  Amy,  ''she  must  be  'sleep- 
ing by  the  job,'  as  Father  says." 

"  She  will   be  up  here   in   a  minute  more,"  thought 


158  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

Lizzie;  and  the  wrapper  was  cast  aside  and  rubbers 
thrown  behind  the  trunk  in  a  twinkling.  It  was  none 
too  soon,  for  Amy  was  already  clattering  at  the  door, 
Lizzie  opened  it,  and  confronted  her  friend,  clad  in 
her  white  night-dress,  and  yawning  innocently  as  she 
said  : 

"  I  have  overslept,  it  seems." 

"  I  should  think  s,o  !"  replied  Amy,  laughingly. 
"  Breakfast  is  ready.     Can  I  help  you  .?" 

"No,  thank  you.     I  will  be  down  in  a  moment." 

"Well,  hurry,"  said  the  sprightly  friend,  "or  we 
shall  be  late  for  church."  And  she  closed  the  door, 
and  ran  down  with  a  whirr  and  a  bound,  as  she  had 
come. 

Lizzie  dressed  hastily,  but  thoughtfully.  She  re- 
membered now  ail  that  had  occurred  during  the  night. 
She  knew  that  tliere  in  her  trunk  w^as  locked  the  box 
which,  she  doubted  not,  contained  a  large  part  of  the 
booty  which  her  Markham  v/as  even  then  seeking  to 
recover.  She  must  have  time  to  examine  it  and  con- 
sider her  course.  So  she  determined  that  her  head- 
ache and  the  dark  circles  about  her  eyes,  the  result  of 
her  night's  adventure,  should  constitute  a  convenient 
subterfuge  by  means  of  which  she  might  remain  in 
her  chamber  and  be  safe  from  interruption  during 
most  of  the  day.  She  knew  the  Puritanic  habits  of 
the  people  ;  they  were  her  own.  No  light  thing  was 
allowed  to  detain  any  one  from  the  Sabbath  exercises. 

In  a  few  moments  she  was  ready  for  breakfast. 
Her  plea  of  headache  and  general  ill-feeling,  backed 
as  it  was  by  her  swollen  eyes  and  pallid  countenance, 


FOR   SWEET  LOVE'S   SAKE.  i^^ 

was  readily  allowed.  All  concurred  in  her  view  that 
she  ought  not  to  go  to  church.  Amy  offered  to  stay 
with  her,  but  Lizzie  would  not  hear  of  it.  She  was 
going  to  "  sleep  it  off,"  she  said. 

She  wandered  about  listlessly  after  breakfast,  and, 
happening  to  pass  the  woodshed  door,  she  saw  Amy's 
father  standing  with  the  spade  she  had  used  the  night 
before  in  his  hand,  gazing  at  it  wonderingly.  She 
stepped  away  around  the  corner,  and  heard  him.  call  : 
"Susan!    Susan  !" 

"Well,  what?"  answered  his  wife,  as  she  appeared 
in  the  kitchen  doorway,  busily  engaged  in  wiping  the 
breakfast-knives,   wdiich  Amy  was  washing  at  the  sink. 

"  Have  you  had  this  spade  ?" 

"  Is  that  wdiat  you  are  w^aking  the  neighborhood 
about,  of  a  Sunday.^"  she  rejoined,  half-sharply,  half- 
jocularly. 

"But  see  here,"  said  he;  "you  know  this  always 
hangs  on  that  post." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  dame,  as  she  stepped  into 
the  woodshed,  with  the  knives  still  in  her  hand. 

"Well,  I  found  it  here,  lying  on  the  ground,  just 
inside  the  door,  covered  with  dirt,  fresh  and  damp.  I 
haven't  had  it  since  Friday — or  Thursday,  was  it.'' — 
putting  out  those  plants  of  yours;  and  then,  I  remem- 
ber, I  wiped  it  off  and  hung  it  up." 

Anything  out  of  place  or  in  bad  condition  Avas  a 
nine  days'  v\'onder  about  the  preniises  of  Anson  Levis. 
The  orderly  habits  of  a  busy  lifetime  were  exaggerated 
by  advancing  age  both  in  himself  and  his  wife  Susan, 
and  all  their  surroundings  were  almost    painfully  neat 


j5o  i^/6^6'  AXn    THISTLES. 

and  precise.  Meantime,  Amy,  her  sleeves  rolled  up, 
displaying  her  plump  -arms,  came  to  the  door,  and 
joined  in  the  colloquy.  In  that  happy  region  where 
servants  are  almost  unknown,  these  three  constituted 
the  family,  unless,  as  now,  some  friend  was  staying 
with  them  for  a  short  time.  The  matter  of  the  spade 
was  of  so  unusual  a  nature,  that  Lizzie  was  forgotten 
while  speculation  proceeded  as  to  the  phenomenon. 
Various  theories  were  offered  and  abandoned. 

"Whoever  has  had  it  has  been  digging  down  to 
the  hard  pan,"  said  Anson  Levis,  as  he  scraped  the 
stiff  bluish  clay  from  its  edge  with  a  chip. 

Amy  laughed  merrily. 

*' Probably  some  one  has  borrowed  it  to  dig  his 
grave  with,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  fortunate  remark,  so  far  as  the  true  solu- 
tion of  the  mystery  was  concerned.  It  set  Mrs.  Levis 
going  on  one  of  her  hobbies.  Twenty  years  or  more 
before,  a  grave  had  been  opened  in  the  little  village 
churchyard,  two  hundred  yards  away,  and  the  body 
taken,  for  dissection,  it  was  said.  This  event,  or  this 
surmise — for  whether  it  were  fact  or  fiction  was  hard 
to  decide — had  made  a  most  vivid  impression  on  this 
good  lady's  mind,  and  "body-snatchers"  had  ever  since 
been  one  of  the  pet  horrors  of  her  very  vivid  imagina- 
tion. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Father,"  she  now  said,  earn- 
estly; "some  of  those  resurrectionists  have  been  and 
taken  up  Laura  Herman.  She  was  only  buried  Thurs- 
day, you  know." 

The  worthy  man  saw  what  was  coming,  and  dreaded 


FOR   SWEE'J'  LOVE'S   SAKE.  j6i 

it.  He  was  not  at  all  imaginative — just  plain,  matter- 
of-fact,  too  honest  to  distrust  what  he  could  see,  or 
to  believe  more  than  that.  He  knew  that  his  wife's 
busy  fancy  would  make  a  doleful  tragedy  out  of  the 
circumstances  which  had  simply  puzzled  him.  He 
saw  that  spade  growing,  little  by  little,  into  a  tradition 
whose  horror  would  make  the  juveniles  of  Aychitula 
quake  with  terror  in  the  long  winter  nights  of  the 
future. 

"Pshaw  !"  said  he,  "  don't  be  run  away  with  by  that 
idea,  Susan.  People  who  steal  dead  bodies  would 
not  be  particular  to  return  spades.  I  dare  say  I  have 
used  it  for  something  or  other  which  I  have  forgotten 
now.  I  do  forget  lately,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh.  He 
dreaded  to  think  that  he  was  growing  old. 

The  women — mother  and  daughter — both  knew  this 
dread  of  age  which  he  had.  and  both,  in  their  different 
ways,  loved  him  tenderly.  So  the  spade  and  its  mys- 
tery were  put  out  of  mind  as  both  sought  to  drive 
away  the  gloomy  feeling  from  the  father's  heart. 

Lizzie  strolled  to  her  own  room,  and  when  Amy 
came  in  already  dressed  to  bestow  her  final  regrets 
and  a  kiss  before  going  to  church,  she  was  lying  on 
her  bed  and  apparently  sound  asleep.  V/hen  she  heard 
the  front  door  close  behind  her  hosts,  she  stepped 
lightly  from  the  bed  and  watched  them  through  the 
closed  blinds  as  they  walked  down  the  path  and 
through  the  gate  into  the  street,  already  thronged  with 
brightly-dressed,  happy-faced  church-goers. 

Then  she  flew  to  her  door,  locked  it,  and  was  on  her 
knees  before  her  trunk  in  an  instant.     Her  illness  had 


J 52  F^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

vanished.  With  flushed  face  and  sparkling  eyes,  she 
unlocked  and  opened  the  trunk,  and  looked  upon  the 
result  of  her  last  night's  adventure — a  tin-box,  perhaps 
a  foot  long  by  eight  inches  in  width  and  five  or  six 
in  depth.  It  was  battered  and  bruised  with  long  usage, 
and  stood,  earthy  and  grimy,  upon  the  pile  of  snowy 
garments  which  constitute  the  summ.er  wardrobe  of 
young  ladyhood.  She  did  not  mind  the  soiled  muslins 
and  laces,  the  crushed  frills  and  flutings,  which  at  any 
other  time  would  very  nearly  have  driven  her  to  dis- 
traction. She  took  the  box  out,  removed  the  earth 
which  had  adhered  to  it,  and  examined  its  exterior 
very  carefully.  It  was  fastened  with  a  small  padlock 
and  hasp. 

On  the  narrow  lid,  at  the  right  of  the  hasp,  was  a 
place  where  the  brown  japanning  had  been  marked 
with  some  letters,  which  had  been  afterwards  carefully 
erased.  Attached  to  the  handle  was  a  piece  of  card,  on 
which  something  had  been  written,  but  it  had  become 
so  blurred  by  the  dampness  in  which  it  had  lain  that 
she  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

She  was  not  one  to  rest  in  doubt.  Whether  tltis  v/as 
the  property  of  Boaz  Woodley  or  not,  she  was  fully 
satisfied  that  it  was  in  some  way  connected  Avith  the 
robbery  of  the  bank,  and  she  was  determined  that  her 
lover  should  have  the  benefit  of  that  discovery,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  She  had  no  scruples  therv>fore  in 
regard  to  opening  the  box.  The  only  question  was, 
How.^  She  suddenly  remembered  that  Anson  Levis  in 
his  younger  days  had  been  a  blacksmith,  and  that  in  the 
tidy  shop  on  the  corner  of  his  lot  there  was  still  quite 


FOR   SWEET  LOVE'S  SAKE.  jg^ 

an    array  of  tools    pertaining    to    that    craft.     She    first 
tried    all    of  her   keys,    to   see  if  they   would   open   the 
little    brass    padlock    which    held    the    hasp ;    but    they 
would  not..    Then  she  ran  down  into  the  shop  to  find 
something  with  which  she  might  break  or  cut  the  hasp. 
She  had  little  idea  of  what  was  best  adapted  for  such 
purpose,   but,   after   taking   out  of   the  rack   above   the 
bench  one  after  another  of    the  tools,  which  had  been 
roughly  polished  by  long  wear,  she  finally  fixed  upon  a 
file  as   the   m.ost  suitable   implement.     Regarding  it   as 
a  great  undertaking  which  was   before  her,  she  choose 
the  largest  file,  little  dreaming  that  the  small  triangular 
one  which    stood    beside   it  in   the    rack  would  be   far 
more  effective  and  convenient.     Returning  to  her  room, 
she  placed  the  box  on  its  edge  against  her  trunk,  and 
began  the  work  of  filing  through  the  hasp.     It  was  a 
very  slight    thing    for    a    man    to    do,   and    almost    any 
unskilled  boy  could  have  done  it  in  a  minute  or  two. 
But  it  proved  a  terrible   task   to  Lizzie  Harper.     The 
file  slipped  and  the  sharp  edges  of   the  box  wounded 
her  fingers;  it    squeaked    and   clattered  loudly  enough 
to  disturb   the  worshipers    at   the  church,   a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away,   she  thought;   sometim.es    it   ran  over  the 
stubborn   link  like   polished  glass,   and   then  again  she 
had    not    strength    enough    to    push    it.     But    finally   it 
was  done,  the  hasp  separated,  and  the   lock  removed. 

When,  with  bruised  hands  and  flushed  face,  she 
looked  at  the  casket,  now  open  for  her  inspection,  for 
the  first  time  a  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  her  con- 
duct in  thus  forcing  it  open  seemed  to  flash  upon  her 
mind.     Her  cheek  paled  a  little  and  her  hand  trembled 


164 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


as  she  laid  the  box  down  and  raised  the  lid.  The 
first  thing  that  met  her  eye  was  a  paper  on  which  was 
written  the  name  of  Boaz  Woodley  in  his  own  unmis- 
takable handwriting. 

She  had  not  completed  her  examination  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  box  when  she  heard  the  voices  of  Amy 
and  her  parents,  returning  from  church.  She  had  but  a 
moment  to  return  it  to  her  trunk  and  remove  the  evi- 
dences of  her  occupation,  when  she  heard  their  foot- 
steps on  the  porch.  She  hastily  washed  her  hands,  and 
hastened  down  to  meet  Amy  at'  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  ansvv^er  their  anxious  inquiries  as  to  her  health. 

Lizzie  Harper  v>^as  not  an  adept  in  falsifying,  but 
she  had  a  woman's  instinctive  skill  in  evading  inquiry. 
So  she  answered  Amy  without  difficulty,  but  her  self- 
control  almost  broke  down  when  Anson  Levis,  looking 
at  her  flushed  face  and  recognizing  unconsciously  the 
signs  of  labor,  said,  laughingly : 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  been  blacksmithing." 
For  a  moment   she  wondered  if  anything  had  be- 
trayed her,  and  her  cheek  half  paled.     Then  she  said, 
saucily^   going   up    to    the   old    man    and    looking   him 
roguishly  in  the  face : 

"  Perhaps  I  have.  Wouldn't  you  like  me  for  an 
apprentice  ?" 

He  pinched  her  cheek  as  he  laughed  and  said: 

"  Not  if  there  was  any  work  in  the  shop.  Puss!" 

What  to  do  with   the  discovery  she  had  made,  was 

a  serious  question  for  Lizzie  to  decide.     She  knew  her 

lover's    sensitive    nature,   and   properly  appreciated    his 

pride  in   himself.     She   feared  that  if  he  should  know 


J'V/i   S1VICET  LOVE'S   SAKE. 


I6S 


that  she  had  forestalled  him  in  the  discovery  of"  this 
deposit  it  might  vex  and  annoy  him.  She  did  not 
take  any  credit  to  herself  for  the  discovery.  It  seemed 
a  mere  accident  that  she  should  find  the  box  which 
Boaz  Woodley  had  lost,  hidden  under  the  currant-bush 
whose  mysterious  decay  had  been  noticed  by  her  friend. 
Had  not  Markham's  subtle  observations  traced  the  rob- 
ber from  the  bank  to  the  very  spot  where  the  plunder 
was  hidden  ?  That  he  should  not  have  found  it  was 
but  natural,  for  the  then  unwithered  shrub  had  given 
him  no  hint.  Yet  she  feared  he  would  feel  chagrined 
at  a  success  he  might  achieve  through  her  interposition. 
Besides,  this  offered  but  little  clue  as  to  the  personality 
of  the  criminal,  and  to  disclose  the  discovery  could 
not  aid  him  in  the  search  for  the  offender.  Indeed, 
it  might  lead  him  to  relax  his  efforts,  and  result  in 
failure.  So  she  wisely  determined  that  she  would  await 
the  result  of  his  search  and  look  for  some  opportunity 
to  transmit  the  packet  to  his  hands  in  a  v/ay  that 
should  prevent  his  knowing  what  connection  she  had 
had  with  its  discovery. 


CHAPTER   XXIII, 

ON    THE    TRAIL. 


WHEN  Markham  set  forth  upon  his  second  quest 
for  the  robber  of  the  Bank  of  Aychitula,  it  was 
without  any  definite  hypothesis  as  to  his  identity,  but 


1 66  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

with  a  settled  determination  to  follow  wherever  he 
might  be  led  by  the  clue  he  already  had  ;  and  he  fur- 
ther determined  that  no  one,  not  even  Lizzie,  should 
hear  from  him  so  much  as  a  single  word  until  he  had 
accomplished  his  purpose  or  was  ready  to  acknowledge 
his  defeat. 

He  had,  it  is  true,  an  indefinite  notion  that  the 
trail  he  v/as  following  would  lead  to  Frank  Horton, 
the  only  son  of  the  cashier,  and  accordingly  directed 
his  steps  first  to  one  of  the  interior  cities  of  New  York, 
where  the  young  man  was  attending  college.  Upon 
his  arrival  there,  he  began  at  once  his  search  for  a 
clothing  or  furnishing  establishment  from  which  the 
card  in  his  possession  might  have  come.  After  the 
closest  examination,  he  could  find  none.  His  in- 
quiries as  to  the  life  of  the  cashier's  son  revealed  the 
fact  that  he  had  come  back,  after,  the  summer  vacation, 
apparently  weaned  of  some  former  wildness,  and  de- 
voted himself  to  his  studies  with  peculiar  steadiness 
and  determination.  He  had  been  excused  to  visit  a 
sick  classmate  once  since  that  time,  and  had  been 
away  four  or  five  days,  but  otherwise  had  not  been 
absent  from  any  required  exercise. 

This  failure  was  attended  with  no  little  satisfaction 
to  Markham.  From  the  first  he  had,  somewhat  dreaded 
lest  the  cashier  should  be  involved  ii.  the  crime.  There 
was  that  about  TliOmas  Horton  v/hich  made  every  one 
wish  him  well.  Perhaps  not  every  one  would  rejoice 
as  earnestly  as  Lizzie  in  tlie  justification"  of  a  good 
man's  name,  but  all  would  be  glad  to  know  thot  Thomas 
Horton  was  unscathed   by  crime  or  freed  from  an  un- 


O.V    THE    TRAIL. 


167 


just  suspicion.  Besides  this,  Frank  Horton  had  been, 
for  a  brief  period,  a  schoolmate  of  Markham's,  and  he 
had  a  certain  liking  for  the  bold  young  fellow,  who 
had  been  a  ringleader  in  mischief  among  the  younger 
students  at  Rexville  when  he  himself  had  been  one  of 
the  "grave  and  reverend  seniors"  about  to  leave  that 
institution  for  the  halls  of  college.  He  did  not  like  to 
hunt  this  schoolmate  down  for  crime.  He  would  much 
rather  pursue  a  stranger — one  with  whom  he  had  no 
personal  relations.  So  it  was  with  a  certain  feeling  of 
satisfaction  that  he  turned  back  upon  his  steps  to 
Buffalo.  Now  that  he  was  dispossessed  of  any  theory 
wiiich  colored  his  reasoning  on  the  subject,  and  had 
the  world  before  him,  instead  of  feeling  at  all  discour- 
aged, he  settled  down  at  once  to  systematic  action. 

Buffalo,  as  the  first  important  city  to  the  eastward 
of  the  scene  of  the  robbery,  might  give  the  clue  for 
which  he  sought,  and  should  first  be  searched.  If 
that  failed,  he  would  go  to  New  York.  That  was  the 
heart  of  the  continent ;  sooner  or  later,  the  robber  him- 
self and  the  marked  bills  which  he  had  taken  would 
be  drawn  into  that  great  maelstrom  of  trade  and 
crime. 

A  week  in  Buffalo  revealed  nothing.  He  v/ent  to 
New  York.  From  there  he  wrote  to  Boaz  Woodley  : 
"  If  you  desire  to  communicate  with  me  at  any  time, 
address  P,0.  Box  6049,  New  York  City."     That  was  all. 

"I  like  that,"  said  Woodley  to  himself.  "The 
young  dog  is  settling  to  his  work.  I  was  afraid  he 
had  given  it  up.  He  will  succeed."  So  he  directed 
all  bankers  whom   he  had  notified  of  the  marked  bills 


l68  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

to  send  intelligence  of  any  that  came  to  their  knowl- 
edge to  the  address  given  him. 

In  his  Nev/  York  lodgings,  Markham  became  a  stu- 
dent of  directories.  He  had  three  things  by  which  he 
might  discover  the  offender :  the  marked  bills,  the 
casts  of  the  foot-tracks,  and  the  torn  card.  To  the 
latter  he  gave  very  close  attention,  as  he  had  a  dim 
hope  that  it  might  lead  to  his  result  quicker  than  the 
others.  He  had  already  decided  that  the  card  was 
probably  that  of  a  wholesale  and  retail  clothier,  whose 
place  of  business  vv-as  upon  the  corner  of  some  streets, 
in  an  unknown  city.  This  conclusion  he  had  arrived 
at  from  both  sides  of  the  card.  He  admitted  to  him- 
self that  the  deduction  was  not  irrefragable.  "C," 
"P.,"  and  "V."  mJght  not  stand  for  "coat,"  "pants," 
and  "vest,"  but,  taken  in  connection  with  the  prices, 
he  thought  it  more  than  probable  that  they  did.  Then, 
too,  admitting  this  inference  to  be  correct,  it  did  not 
follow  that  the  card  was  that  of  a  clothing-house.  Yet, 
again,  he  thought  that  the  probabilities  were  largely  in 
favor  of  that  hypothesis. 

To  find  a  man  or  a  firm  whose  name  began  with 
"  Johns,"  whose  place  of  business  was  on  a  Garner, 
and  who  was  presumably  a  ivholesale  and,  retail  clothier, 
was,  therefore,  his  first  task.  There  were  two  lines  of 
travel  most  intimately  connected  with  the  locality  in 
which  the  crime  vv'as  committed  —  one  directly  east, 
reaching  through  Central  New  York  to  the  city  by 
two  routes,  along  each  of  which  was  a  chain  of  interior 
cities,  and  extending  on  to  the  cities  of  New  England ; 
the  other,  directly  westward  to  Chicago,  also  studded 


ON    THE    TRAJL.  i6p 

with  the  ganglia  of  trade  and  travel,  connecting  with 
Cincinnati,  St.  Louis,  and  the  Southwest.  A  third,  of 
much  less  importance,  was  by  Pittsburgh  to  Philadel- 
l^hia  and  the  cities  connected  therewith. 

In  this  order  he  determined  that  his  search  should 
proceed.  He  could  do  nothing  to  hasten  the  acqui- 
sition of  any  clue  by  means  of  the  marked  bills.  That 
must  come — if  it  came  at  all — by  the  natural  ebb  and 
flaw  of  commerce,  by  which  sooner  or  later  some  of 
this  marked  money  v/ould  be  cast  into  the  hands  of 
some  watchful  observer  of  the  current,  and  then  it 
might,  perhaps,  be  traced  back  from  hand  to  hand  to 
the  guilty  party  who  had  first  uttered  it.  This  was, 
of  course,  on  the  hypothesis  that  the  thief  should  put 
the  money  in  circulation.  Even  this  was  by  no  means 
certain.  There  was  evidently  a  close  knowledge  of 
the  ways  of  the  bank,  on  the  part  of  the  robber,  and 
a  strange  power  of  self-restraint  or  cautious  discrimina- 
tion, in  that,  of  the  many  thousands  of  dollars  which 
were  under  his  hands,  he  had  only  taken  the  deposit 
of  Boaz  Woodley  and  a  small  portion  of  the  general 
deposits.  Whenever  his  mind  recurred  to  these  facts, 
he  would  find  himself  insensibly  turning  his  suspicion 
again  upon  the  cashier,  and  the  fact  that  several  months 
had  elapsed  and  none  of  this  money  seemed  to  have 
entered  the  usual  channels  of  trade  powerfully  con- 
firmed this  suspicion.  However,  he  would  not  yield 
to  it,  but  cast  it  off,  determined  only  to  pursue  the 
clues  in  his  liands,  uninfluenced  by  any  outside  ratio- 
cination of  his  own.  Week  after  week,  and  month 
after  month,  he  pursued  his  search. 


lyo 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


Boaz  Woodley  had  given  up  all  feeling  of  doubt  as 
to  the  result.  When  Markham's  brief  epistle,  givdng 
his  address,  had  come,  he  had  replied  as  follows  :  "  All 
right.  Go  on  until  you  have  exhausted  your  last  re- 
source. Leave  no  stone  unturned.  Time  is  nothing; 
success  is  everything.  The  crime  was  evidently  com- 
mitted by  an  enemy  of  mine,  by  a  servant  of  the  bank, 
or  by  some  confidant  of  a  servant.  The  motive  of  the 
act  was  not  robbery — mere  greed  of  money.  Of  that  I 
am  sure.  It  was  the  act  of  a  revengeful  or  needy  man, 
I  can  give  you  no  aid  as  to  either.  Horton  is  inno- 
cent. I  am  still  confident  of  that.  Yet  you  might 
inquire  if  he  has  been  speculating  in  New  York.  His 
son  was  absent,  and  had  not  been  at  home  for  months. 
Warner  and  I  found  the  books  straight  and  accurate  to 
a  cent.     The  mystery  only  increases  my  anxiety." 

He  heard  nothing  from  Maikham  except  once  or 
twice  when  there  had  come  checks  for  expenses,  v/ith 
clear,  detailed  statements  of  the  use  made  of  former 
amounts.  By  studying  these,  he  found  that  the  young 
man  had  passed  by  his  old  home  twice,  yet  he  had  not 
heard  that  he  had  stopped.  To  make  sure,  he  wrote  to 
Lizzie,  professing  ignorance  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
Markham,  and  desiring  information ;  for  the  knowledge 
of  her  engagement  had  become  general,  and  Woodley 
reasoned  that  she  would  have  knowledge  of  his  address 
and  would  have  seen  him  if  he  had  returned.  He 
received  only  a  brief  line  in  reply,  in  which  Lizzie 
stated  that  she  had  not  heard  from  Mr.  Churr  in  more 
than  two  months,  but  that  he  had  then  directed  her 
to   address,  "  P.   O.    Box,  6049,  New  York    City."     It 


ON    THE    TRAIL.  171 

was  the  same  address  Woodley  had  himself  received, 
and  he  felt  satisfied  that  Markham  was  hard  at  work. 

Thus  Boaz  Woodley  waited  in  confident  hope,  and 
Markham  Churr  plodded  on  in  dogged  silence.  City 
after  city  he  scrutinized  for  some  clue  to  the  piece 
of  crumpled  card  which  he  carried.  He  found  "  John- 
sons" and  "Johnstons"  and  "  Johnstones,"  with  every 
imaginable  copartnership,  "  &  Bro.,"  "  &  Co.,"  and 
linked  with  almost  every  possible  name,  on  all  sorts  of 
<r<^rners  and  in  every  kind  of  wholesale  a?id  retail  busi- 
ness. But  he  found  none  who  could  decipher  the  mys- 
tery of  this  card.  In  these  months,  inquiry  in  regard 
to  this  had  grown  almost  to  be  a  mania  with  him,.  He 
had  had  the  original  carefully  reproduced  by  photog- 
raphy, and  sometimes  sent  inquiries  by  mail  in  re- 
gard to  it.  This  he  had  done  to  many  of  the  interior 
towns  which  he  could  not  visit.  Yet  he  gained  no 
information. 

The  winter  had  passed,  and  the  spring  had  come, 
when  he  was  returning  from  following  up  a  false  scent 
at  the  West,  and  stopped  at  Philadelphia,  intending 
to  proceed  to  New  York  by  the  next  train,  As  he 
wandered  along  the  street,  his  eye  caught  the  sign, 
"Johnson  &  Bro  ,  Wholesale  and  Retail  Clothiei-^."  It 
was  upon  a  corner,  too,  of  Arch  and  Sixth  streets.  In- 
stinctively he  entered,  and  asked  to  see  one  of  their 
cards.  It  was  shown  to  him ;  but  it  did  not  correspond 
with  the  one  he  had — in  size  or  style  of  type. 

"Did  you  ever  have  one  like  that,"  he  asked,  show- 
ing the  well-worn  scrap,  now  carefully  framed  in  glass. 
The  clerk  could  not  answer,  but  showed  the  way  to  the 


iy2  J^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

counting-room,  where  Churr  repeated  the  inquiry,  with 
an  abruptness  which  had  long  since  become  habitual  to 
him,  to  the  kind-faced,  busy  man  who  was  pointed  out 
to  him   as  Mr.   Johnson : 

"Is  that  one  of  }'Our  cards,  sir?" 

"Well,"  said  he,  smiling  as  he  examined  it.  "I 
should  say  it  is  what  is  left  of  one.?" 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  this  memoran- 
dum?" asked  Markham,  pointing  out  the  figures  on 
the  back. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  proprietor — " '  S.,'  that  was 
probably  meant  for  J.  W.  S.,  a  clerk  in  the  custom  de- 
partment. .  Here,  Charley,"  said  he  to  a  messenger. 
"Ask  Mr.   Sharp  to  step  this  way  for  a  moment." 

When  the  clerk  came,  he  handed  him  the  piece  of 
card,  saying: 

"  Mr.  Sharp,  here  is  a  memorandum  of  yours.  Can 
you  tell  this  gentleman  what  it  means  ?" 

Mr.  Sharp  took  the  card,  adjusted  his  spectacles, 
and  gave  it  a  careful  inspection. 

"Yes  sir,"  said  he,  "this  is  the  card  we  always  put 
on  a  custom-made  suit  when  it  is  finished,  for  the 
instruction  of  the  shipping-clerk.  You  see."  he  added, 
turning  to  Markhami,  "  we  do  a  great  deal  of  \vork  for 
customers  at  a  distance.  People  leave  their  measures, 
or  send  them  to  us,  and  when  they  want  clothing:,  we 
send  them  samples  and  prices  ;  they  select  the  cloth, 
and  we  cut  and  make,  and  forward  to  them  by  express. 
I  am  bock-keeper  of  the  custom-making  department. 
When  a  suit  is  ordered,  it  is  entered  upon  our  book 
by   a  number,  as,  in  this  case,  12,063,   and  when   it  is 


OiV    THE    TRAIL.  ly^ 

made,  it  is  given  to  the  shipping-clerk,  who  sends  it 
to  the  person  whose  order  has  that  number,  with  a  bill 
corresponding  with  the  card. 

"Can  you  tell  me  to  whom  this  was  sent?"  asked 
Markhani- 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  proprietor.  "Mr.  Sharp, 
ask  Mr.  Bailey  to  look  up  No.  12,063,  ^^^^  when  and 
to  whom  it  was  sent,  and  what  was  the  express  return. 
You  see,  sir,"  he  said,  with  pardonable  pride,  "we 
do  a  very  large  business  in  custom-goods,  being  the 
first  bouse  that  ever  undertook  to  furnish  custom-work 
at  a  distance  and  guarantee  satisfaction.  Of  course  it 
requires  a  very  careful  system.  V/iil  you  not  leave 
your  measure,  sir .?"  he  asked,  with  an  eye  to  his  own 
advantage.  "  It  can  be  taken  vv'hile  the  clerk  is  look- 
ing up  his  entries.  It  may  be  convenient  for  you  to 
order,  some  time,  vrhen  you  cannot  satisfy  yourself 
nearer  home.     V/e  guarantee  satisfaction,  sir." 

Markham  was  pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the 
proprietor,  and  his  readiness  to  turn  every  incident  to 
the  advancement  of  his  trade.  Besides,  it  Avas  the  first 
actual  glimpse  of  success  which  he  had  obtained,  and 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  did  need  a  new 
suit.  The  dealer's  eye  had  already  detected  that  fact. 
So  he  readily  assented,  and,  before  the  clerk  had  ob- 
tained the  information  required,  had  not  only  been 
measured,  but  had  ordered  a  suit  of  clothes,  and 
directed  them  to  be  sent  to  his  Nev/  York  lodgings. 
This  fact  brought  him  at  once  into  unusual  favor  with 
the  proprietor,  to  whom  every  patron  was  a  friend,  but 
a  New  York  patron  one  to  be  especially  cherished. 


174 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


Then  the  clerk  brought  his  book,  and,  pointing  to 
the  entry,  read  : 

"Number  12,063.  Summer  flannel  suit — pants,  vest, 
and  Chesterfield  coat ;  twenty-seven  dollars  and  fifty 
cents.  Ordered  June  9,  and  sent,  C  O.D  ,  July  3,  i860, 
to  Mr.  Frank  Horton,  at  Titusville,  Penna." 

Markham  sank  into  a  chair  as  the  clerk  finished 
reading,  overwhelmed  with  surprise. 

"That  is  the  entry.  Nothing  wrong,  I  hope,  sir," 
said  the  clerk,  briskly. 

"No,  sir,  nothing  wrong,"  he  answered.  "You  will 
allow  me  to  copy  this  entry .?" 

"  Oh,   certainly,"  said  the  proprietor. 

He  was  about  to  depart,  after  having  done  so  and 
thanked  the  proprietor,  when,  recollecting  the  purchase 
he  had  made,  he  turned  and  said  : 

"I  may  as  well  pay  you  for  the  clothing  now." 

"Just  as  may  be  convenient  for  you,"  said  the 
proprietor. 

"I  will  pay  you  now,"  said  Markham,  handing  him 
a  bill,  which  the  merchant  at  once  gave  to  a  boy  to 
have  changed,'  saying,  vs^ith  a  smile,  "  It  will  save  you  a 
dollar  collection  charges." 

The  boy  returned  and  handed  Markham  some  bills, 
at  which  he  glanced,  and  was  about  to  put  them  in  his 
pocket  when  his  gaze  became  fixed  upon  one  of  them, 
and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  asked,  anxiously: 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  you   got  that  bill.'" 

"  Well,  reallv,"  said  the  merchant,  laughingly,  "you 
seem  determined  to  know  all  about  our  business,  sir." 
He  glanced  keenly,  but  not  unpleasantly,  at  Markham 


ox    THE    TRAIL.  1 75 

as  he  spoke,  and  the  latter  saw  that  it  would  not  only 
be  safe,  but  almost  necessary,  to  meet  Mr.  Johnson's 
politeness  with  an  avowal  of  the  purpose  of  his  in- 
quiries. After  he  had  informed  him  briefly  of  this, 
and  the  relation  of  the  bill  he  held  in  his  hand  to  the 
robbery,  Mr.  Johnson  said : 

"  Certainly,  sir,  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  aid  you  in 
such  a  matter." 

After  a  short  conversation  with  his  cashier,  he  in- 
formed Markham  that  both  the  cashier  and  one  of  his 
salesmen  were  confident  that  tliey  had  received  the 
bill  from  an  old  and  very  eccentric  customer,  Mr  Peter 
Wrenn,  a  Quaker,  who  lived  but  a  few  blocks  distant, 
and  added : 

"As  I  might  be  able  to  get  more  out  of  the  old 
man  than  you  could  do  alone,  I  will  go  with  you  to 
see  him." 

Markham  thanked  him  for  his  politeness. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Johnson.  "  In  fact,  I  do  not 
offer  to  do  this  altogether  from  kindness  to  you  I 
am  afraid  you  may  lose  us  a  customer  if  I  do  not  go 
along  to  mollify  the  old  man's  wrath,  which  is  sure 
to  arise  as  soon  as  he  sees  that  bill  and  hears  your 
inquiries." 

They  found  Mr.  Wrenn  in  a  little,  dingy  room,  wi:h 
a  coal  grate  whose  emptiness  made  one  shiver. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  when  Mr  Johnson  had  stated,  in 
a  general  way,  the  occasion  of  the  visit,  "  it's  a  good 
bill,  isn't  it  ?" 

''Perfectly  good,"  said  Markham;  "but  I  wish  to 
know  if  you  can  recollect  from  whom  you  received  it." 


176  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"  If  thee  knew  Peter  Wrenn,  thee  would  know  he 
could  never  recollect.  Recollect !  I  recollect  noth- 
ing— not  a  thing,  young  man,  not  a  thing!"  said  the 
old  Quaker,  v/ith  considerable  show  of  anger. 

"Well,  that  is  all,"  said  Markham;  "only  I  must 
beg  your  pardon  for  troubling  you.  I  hoped  you 
could  remember,  in  order  that  I  might  trace  it  back." 

"No,  I  never  remeniber — never!" 

Markham  rose  and  took  his  hat  to  go,  but  Johnson 
nodded  to  him  to  remain. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  quietly,  "Mr.  Wrenn  has  some 
memorandum  that  might  help  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  books.?"   asked  the  old  man,  sharply. 

"Certainly." 

"Why  don't  thee  say  so,  then.^  This  idea  of  call- 
ing books  memorandums,  putting  them  on  a  footing 
with  pencil-jottings  on  cards  and  bits  of  wrapping- 
paper,  is  unworthy  of  a  merchant.  If  I  thought  thee 
practiced  as  loosely  as  thee  talks,  I  would  never  enter 
thy  shop  again — never  !  Yes,  I  keep  books — books  which 
show  my  business  instead  of  concealing  it ;  books 
which  show  what  I  do,  how  I  do  it,  whom  I  do  it  with, 
and  whether  I  gain  or  lose  by  any  particular  operation. 
If  there  is  anything  in  those  books  that  will  aid  thy 
friend,  he  is  welcome  to  see  them." 

"  If  there  is  an  entry  of  the  person  from  you  re- 
ceived this  bill,  it  loill  aid  me,  greatly,"  said  Markham. 
"  //"  I  ever  received  it,  young  man,  there  is  assuredly 
an  entry  showing  from  whence  it  came.  Let  me  see 
thy  note." 

The   old   man  examined   the   bill,   and   then   turned 


Oy    THE    TRAIL.  lyy 

over  his  books  for  a  few  moments,  rose,  took  a  key 
fiom  his  pocket,  and,  opening  a  safe  set  in  the  wall 
of  the  room,  took  out  a  bundle  of  papers,  and,  select- 
ing one,  handed  it,  after  careful  inspection,  to  Mark- 
ham,  saying  : 

"  I  received  that  bill  in  payment  of  a  note  identical 
with  this  in  all  respects,  except  that  it  was  payable  three 
months  after  date  instead  of  six.  It  was  paid  on  the 
day  it  fell  due." 

The  paper  he  handed  Markham  was  a  note  for 
three  thousand  dollars,  and  purported  to  have  been 
signed  by  Frank  Horton,  Thom.as  Horton,  and  Boaz 
Wood  ley. 

The  signatures  were  so  well  executed  that  even 
Markham  for  a  moment  hardly  thought  of  doubting 
their  genuineness. 

He  examined  the  paper  carefully,  and  noticed  that 
it  purported  to  have  been  executed  at  a  tov,-n  in  the 
western  part  of  Pennsylvania  and  v/as  past  due. 

"This  is  over-due,   I  see,  Mr.  VVrenn." 

"Yes,  but  the  young  man  was  so  prompt  in  the 
payment  of  the  first  that  I  thought  I  would  not  push 
him  on  this.  Besides,  I  hold  a  very  good  security  and 
have  no  fear  of  loss  by  his  failure  to  pay." 

"  May  I  ask  what  that  security  is  V 

"Young  man,  Peter  Wrenn  is  not  in  the  habit  of 
publishing  his  business  to  every  one  who  has  the  curi- 
osity to  inquire  about  it,  and  I  don't  think  thee  had 
better  ask  any  m.ore  questions.  I  am  almost  sorry  I 
told  thee  as  much  as  I  have.  I  have  had  consid- 
erable dealing  v/ith   the   young  man  who  gave  me   that 


lyg  ^^GS  A  AW    THISTLES. 

note  and  have  always  found  him  correct.  I  have  no 
doubt  he  will  pay  this,  and  1  am  not  sure  I  had  any 
right  to  mention  it  to  another."  He  reached  his  hand 
for  the  note,  and  Markham,  seeing  that  he  could  learn 
no  more,  signified  his  intention  to  depart. 

"I  hope  young  Horton  can  tell  thee  where  he  got 
the  money,  and  that  thou  wilt  catch  the  thief;  but  I 
hope  thee  will  say  nothing  about  our  business.  That 
does  not  concern  thee.  If — if — it  should  happen,  that 
all  those  names  were  not  written  by  the  men  they  be- 
long to,  don't  run  the  young  man  down  on  that  account. 
He'll  pay  the  note,  I  have  no  doubt,  and  I've  got 
plenty  of  security — security  that  can't  fail,  real  estate 
— land — and  abundance  of  it.  So  don't  hunt  him  down 
for  that." 

''  I  shall  only  do  my  plain  duty  to  my  employer," 
answered  Markham.  "I  have  no  desire  to  injure  Mr. 
Horton." 

"  That's  right — that's  right,"  said  the  old  man,  shak- 
ing hands  with  more  cordiality  than  he  had  before 
shown.  "  Punish  crime  as  severely  as  possible,  when 
it  injures  others,  but  when  no  one  is  hurt,  don't  be 
too  hard  on  mere  unlawful  acts.  We  cannot  always 
know  a  man's  temptations  nor  how  he's  deceived  him- 
self. An  honest  man  may  do  very  strange  things  some- 
times and  hardly  know  it  afterwards.  There's  lots  of 
names  borrowed  for  a  fev/  days,  without  their  owner's 
knowledge,  in  every  great  city,  and  nobody  hurt  by  it." 

Lea-ving  the  old  Quaker  and  his  queer  morality, 
Markham  bade  farewell  to  Mr.  Johnson  and  went  to 
his  hotel, 


O.V    THE    TRAIL.  179 

That  night  two  letters  were  sent  from  Philadelphia. 
One  was  to  Boaz  Woodley,  and  read  as  follows  : 

"  Sir  :  Nothing  recovered,  but  the  proof  is  plenary 

as  to  Frank  Horton's  connection  with  the  robbery.     I 

leave  to-night  for  R.,  where   he  is,  so  as  to  have  him 

in   sight.     Telegraph    me    there  whether   I   shall   cause 

his  arrest   or  not.     I  shall  be  in  R.  when  you  receive 

this.     Respectfully, 

"Markham  Churr. 

The  other  was  from  Peter  Wrenn  to  Frank  Horton, 

and  read : 

"  Friend  :  Thou  art  aware  that  thy  note  for  $3,000 
is  over-due  by  eome  four  months.  I  wish  thee  would 
arrange  to  pay  it  now.  I  feel  bound  to  tell  thee  that 
a  young  man  named  Markham  Churr  came  to  see  me 
to-day,  and  asked  some  close  questions  about  our  busi- 
ness. He  had  traced  back  to  me  one  of  the  bills  I 
received    from    thee.     Thou    wilt    know    if   he    can    do 

thee  any  harm.     Thy  friend, 

"  Peter  Wrenn.' 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    DELUGE. 


IT  was  on  a  Saturday  morning  that  Markham  reached 
the   city  of  R.,  and    found   this   despatch  awaiting 
him  : 


l8o  F^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

"  No.     Learn  all  you  can,  and  come  here. 

"  B.  WOODLEY." 

He  spent  the  day,  therefore,  in  making  inquiries  in 
regard  to  Frank  Horton,  and  learned  several  facts 
which  tended  very  strongly  to  confirm  the  testimony 
he  had  otherwise  obtained.  Among  others,  was  the 
statement  by  his  boarding-house  keeper  that  he  had 
left  the  city  just  before  the  robbery,  and  returned  the 
day  but  one  afterwards.  A  shoem_aker,  after  carefully 
measuring  the  long-neglected  casts,  declared  that  they 
would  fit  Mr.  Frank  Horton 's  foot,  and  he  thought  they 
were  taken  from  impressions  made  by  a  pair  of  boots 
he  had  made  for  that  young  gentleman,  and  repaired 
a  short  time  after  the  date  of  the  robbery.  Inquiries 
at  the  various  banks  of  the  city  disclosed  nothing  but 
that  young  Horton  had  made  no  deposits  in  them 
except  on  one  occasion,  for  a  few  days. 

That  Markham  Churr  should  have  felt  relieved  by 
the  approaching  end  of  his  long  search,  and  also  some- 
what exhilarated  by  his  success,  was  but  natural.  He 
v/as,  however,  heartily  glad  that  the  duty  of  causing 
the  arrest  of  his  old  schoolmate  was  not  imposed  upon 
him,  and  he  determined  that,  after  reporting  to  his 
employer,  he  would  leave  the  further  prosecution  of 
the  matter  entirely  in  his  hands. 

After  a  busy  day,  he  retired  at  night  to  dream  of 
Lizzie  Harper  and  the  enjoyment  of  his  first  triumph 
in  real  life. 

The  next  day  being  the  Sabbath,  Markham  Churr 
rose  late.     It  was  a  bright  morning  in  April.     When  he 


THE  DELUGE.  l8i 

came  dov.-n  to  breakfast,  he  found  the  usual  boarders 
gathered  in  the  little  parlor  of  the  house,  but  unusually 
silent,  preoccupied,  and  solemn.  There  was  a  look  of 
incredulous  surprise  on  every  face,  and  one  who  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  throng  held  a  slip  of  paper  with  a 
few  lines  printed  on  it.  It  was  an  extra,  struck  off  by 
one  of  the  city  dailies  before  dawn  that  morning. 

"What  is  the  matter.?"  asked  Markham. 

The  one  who  held  the  paper  handed  it  to  him 
without  reply,  and  he  read  : 

"  Fort   Sumter  Fired  on  ! 

"  The  following  telegram  was  received  too  late  for 
our  regular  edition  yesterday: 

'' Neiv  York,  April  13.  —  The  rebels  opened  fire  on  Major 
Anderson  and  his  little  force  in  Fort  Sumter  at  daybreak  on  the 
I2th.     The  bombardment  was  still    going  on  at  noon    Saturday." 

He  read  the  brief  announcement  at  a  glance;  then 
read  it  again,  and  again,  •  in  dumb  amazement.  He 
could  not  realize  the  fact.  It  seemed  impossible.  The 
rumor  had  been  about  him  for  months.  The  threat 
of  rebellion  and  war  had  grown  old,  and  yet  it  did  not 
seem  possible  that  these  should  have  conie. 

"War.?  war?"  he  mAirmured;  but  no  one  answered 
him.  Men  were  not  prone  to  conversation  that  morn- 
ing. Perhaps,  too,  it  was  only  an  utterance  of  the 
vague  surprise  which  filled  every  breast,  and,  in  that 
moment  of  wrapt  unconsciousness,  each  listener  may 
have  thought  it  but  the  echo  of  his  own  voice. 

The  breakfast-bell  was  wont  to  summon  a  cheerful 
company  to  the  table  at  Dame  Foster's.  Undergrad- 
uates, and  post-graduates,  and  young  professional  men 


l82  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

of  all  styles,  found  her  terms  reasonable  and  her  fare 
relishable.  So  the  three  tables  vrhich  cut  the  small 
basement  dining-room  across  were  thronged  with  intel- 
ligent, aspiring  young  men.  There  could  scarcely  be  a 
pleasanter  assemblage.  There  was  that  unity  in  essen- 
tials and  variety  in  non-essentials  which  the  ancient 
father  considered  the  prime  ingredients  of  the  millennial 
society.  With  this,  too,  there  was  a  fair  show  of  the 
charity  which  he  deemed  the  other  essential  element  of 
that  beatific  state.  But  this  morning  there  were  no 
jests.  There  was  some  little  questioning,  the  one  with 
the  other,  as  to  the  fate  of  the  beleaguered  band ;  none 
as  to  the  result  of  the  conflict  thus  begun.  Some  saw 
the  end  afar  off,  and  over  a  "bloody  chasm."  Others 
thought  it  close  at  hand.  All  felt  that  the  aggressor 
must  fall.  One  face  was  pallid  with  horror,  another  set 
into  rigid  lines  by  the  perception  of  painful  duty.  On 
each  was  written  in  unmistakable  signs  the  horror  which 
the  thought  of  war  alone  can  bring. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  Markham  went  out  into 
the  streets  of  the  city.  The  first  breath  of  the  swift- 
coming  spring  was  on  his  cheek,  but  he  knew  not  its 
balminess.  The  birds  and  the  bright  sunshine  were 
unheeded.  The  streets  were  full  of  people,  but  they 
were  hushed,  bewildered.  A  few  were  knotted  here 
and  there  in  earnest  discourse.  All  seemed  smitten 
with  an  ague  of  surpri=^e  and  horror. 

At  the  telegraph  office  was  a  wondering  throng. 
One  came  out  who  had  a  relative  among  the  little  band 
in  that  lone  fortress  in  the  harbor  of  Charleston.  He 
had  been  trying  to  learn  more ;  but  there  was  no  more 


THE   DELUGE.  183 

to  be  learned.  The  ruthless  wires,  having  ticked  out 
their  message  of  woe,  relapsed  into  relentless  silence. 
Bred  to  arms,  this  man  thought  first  of  his  friend  and 
kinsman,  not  of  the  general  horror  of  war.  Markham 
wondered  that  he  could  thus  put  away  the  thought 
which  oppressed  every  other  heart.  Of  him,  Markham 
heard  some  one,  whose  tones  revealed  how  keenly  he 
dreaded  to  hear  his  fears  confirmed,  inquire  • 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  more.  Professor  ?" 

The  person  addressed  gathered  his  half- military 
cloak  about  him,  and  answered,  in  quick,  nervous 
tones : 

^'  I  was  only  trying  to  see  if  I  could  learn  anything 
of  Colonel  G." 

"Was  he  there?"  solemnly. 

"Yes,"  moving  away, 

"And  you  think.  Professor,  that  there  will  be  war, 
do  you  ?"  hesitatingly,  as  he  intercepts  his  departing 
listener. 

"  Of  course,"  with  nervous,  half-angry  impatience, 
"what  else  should  there  be.?" 

"Sure  enough,  v/hat  else?"  thinks  every  dazed  lis- 
tener, dully,  to  himself  "  What  else  ?"  and  goes  on  with 
this  misery  sitting  yet  more  heavily  upon  his  heart. 

The  streets  fill,  with  aimless  wanderers — going — 
going — anywhere — everyv/here — alone,  or  in  couples — 
rarelv  speaking  — scarcely  thinking,  possessed —be- 
numbed with  resdess  horror 

The  windows  too,  are  full  of  blanched  faces  looking 
out  upon  the  straggling  cowds  with  wondering  pity — ' 
matron,  wife,  and   child,  full   of  the   grim  dread  which 


1 84  ^^<^^  ^^'^    THISTLES. 

has  come  into  the  common  life,  and  each  praying  that 
the  cup  may  pass  from  her^  forgetful  of  the  others 
whose  lips  may  be  seared  by  its  seething  bitterness. 
For  love  is  thoughtful  only  of  its  own  wlien  swift 
calamity  impends,  and  quite  forgets  that  none  have 
special  claims  to  be  exempted  from  the  pestilential 
breath  or  earthquake  shock. 

The  Sabbath  bells  proclaim,  the  hour  of  worship. 
With  mute,  unreasoning  hope,  the  wandering  crowds 
converge  towards  the  shrines  of  prayer — seeking  for 
something  which  shall  lighten,  but  the  least,  their  name- 
less burden.  Within  the- sanctuary  crowd  the  hushed 
and  palHd  throngs.  Country — blood — war,  are  mingled 
strangely  v^ith  the  thought  of  God  Sinai's  thunders 
and  the  booming  guns  of  Moultrie.  He  that  "  brought 
a  sword,"  with  them  that  drew  it  forth. 

Thp  instinct  of  religion  moves  each  heart.  All  turn 
to  God — wnth  trust  or  hope,  as  faith  and  habit  will 
permit ;  but  all  alike  feel  that  His  hand  directs  the 
storm. 

In  the  solemn  gloom,  the  Vv'hite  faces  take  a  m.ore 
ghastly  gray.  The  organ-notes  are  full  of  wailing. 
The  clanging  chimes  thrill  through  the  trembling  crowd, 
as  if  they  heralded  the  call  of  doom.  It  is  not. fear, 
but  horror;  not  affright,  but  overwhelming  dread,  that 
fills  every  heart.  That  which  all  had  learned  to  think 
could  never  be — had  come!  That  form,  which  all  other 
shapes  of  fear  subordinates,  confronts  the.n.  They  wait 
expectant. 

At  the  church  which  Markliam  chanced  to  enter, 
a  hymn  was  sung,  and  prayer  was  offered,  in  quivering, 


THE   DELUGE.  185 

dubious  tones,  by  him  who  ministered  to  that  people; 
but  as  he  arose,  with  pallid  face  and  trembling  hands, 
to  approach  again  the  sacred  desk,  there  stalked  along 
the  aisle  a  form  that  fixed  upon  itself  at  once  the 
attention  of  all  in  that  vast  throng.  He  was,  perhaps, 
the  best-known  man  in  the  city— the  President  of  the 
University  which  was  its  pride  and  boast.  Of  towering 
frame,  and  with  the  mien  of  one  accustomed  to  be 
heeded  when  he  spoke,  he  passed,  with  nervous,  grace- 
less stride,  along  the  aisle  and  up  the  pulpit  steps — 
looking  neither  to  tke  right  nor  left,  and  heeding  not 
the  gaze  of  the  assembled  throng.  His  face  was  pale, 
but  his  white  lips  were  firm  set,  and  his  keen,  gray 
eyes  burned  under  the  rugged  arch  of  his  overhang- 
ing brows  with  an  unwonted  fire. 

Waving  the  pastor — once  iiis  pupil — to  the  seat  with 
a  whispered  vv-ord,  he  stepped  to  the  desk,  and  opening 
the  Bible  which  lay  upon  it,  turned  its  leaves  for  a 
moment  with  the  air  of  one  who  seeks  for  a  passage 
which  he  has  not  exactly  noted;  and  then  read,  with 
a  voice  full  of  suppressed  intensity,  the  words  of  God 
to  Joshua  after  the  death  of  Moses.  He  closes  the 
book,  and,  resting  his  folded  arms  upon  it,  offers  a  short 
prayer,  which  seems  more  like  a  personal  appeal  for 
aid  than  an  invocation  offered  on  behalf  of  the  con- 
gregation. At  its  conclusion,  he  looks  for  a  moment 
into  the  eyes  of  his  audience,  and  then  repeats,  in 
tones  which  thrill  through  every  heart  like  the  blast 
of  a  trumpet :  . 

"  As  I  was  7vith  Moses^  so  will  I  be  with  thee.  .  , 
Only — be  tkou  strong .^  and  very  courageous.''  . 


i86  fJGS  AND    THISTLES. 

He  sketched,  in  a  few  terse  and  vigorous  sentences, 
the  scene,  the  time,  the  man,  to  whom  the  words  were 
addressed,  and  the  leader  who  had  just  died.  How 
God  had  been  with  Moses,  and  through  what  perils  He 
had  led  His  people.  How,  forty  years  before,  He  had 
brought  them  to  the  banks  of  the  same  Jordan,  and 
found  that  they  had  not  courage  to  cross  over,  even 
with  the  oft-approved  prophet  at  their  head.  How  He 
had  turned  them  back  into  the  wilderness,  and  raised 
up  a  new  generation  whose  manhood  was  to  be  tested 
on  the  morrow;  and  at  this  crisis  in  their  history, 
the  injunction  of  the  Divine  counselor  was :  "Be  thou 
strong,  and  very  courageous." 

Then  the  speaker  took  up  the  dealings  of  the  Al- 
mighty with  the  American  nation;  how  it  had  been 
planted  in  doubt  and  difficulty,  had  grown  under  dis- 
advantages till   it  ripened  into  separate  existence,  and 

then  on 

"  Through  five  and  eighty  years 
Of  growth  and  peace  since  men  went  forth 
To  plant  the  seed  with  tears." 

He  showed  in  all  these  years  the  guiding  hand  of 
God,  as  clearly  to  be  seen  as  in  the  wanderings  of 
Israel,  and,  in  closing,  applied  the  same  inspiring  prom- 
ise, the  same  thrilling  injunction,  with  an  intensity 
and  force  that  made  it  seem  the  very  word  of  God 
spoken  among  men. 

There  was  no  ranting,  no  anger,  no  maudlin  senti- 
mentality, no  mourning  for  lost  opportunities,  nor  re- 
grets for  v/hat  had  or  had  not  been  done.  Just  a 
strong,  manly  survey  of  impending  evil,  an  injunc- 
tion to  meet  and  vanquish  it  with  confidence  in  strong 


THE   DEI^UGE.  187 

arms  and  brave  hearts,  and  an  unwavering  faith  that 
God  is  ever  with  the  Right,  as  He  was  with  Moses. 

When  he  had  closed,  the  strains  of  "  America"  arose 
from  the  lips  of  the  congregation,  as  if  in  answer  to 
his  words,  and  rolled  through  the  church  in  exultant 
echoes. 

Already  the  fact  of  war  had  sunk  into  insignifi- 
cance in  comparison  with  its  cause  and  its  conse- 
quences. 


CHAPTER   XXV, 

PRO    PATRIA. 

NEXT  day  came  the  call  to  arms.  It  was  needless. 
Permission  to  serve  was  all  that  was  required. 
A  thousand  offered  where  ten  were  asked.  The  leth- 
argy of  the  first  shock  was  over.  All  was  life  and 
action.  The  streets  were  filled  with  a  restless  crowd, 
which  flowed  hither  and  thither,  seeking  an  outlet  for 
its  excitement.  There  were  no  bowed  heads  or  fore= 
boding  hearts  now.  A.U  were  enthused,  confident, 
buoyant.  The  dread  of  war  had  passed,  or  the  deter- 
mination to  conquer  had  swallowed  it  up  Flags  and 
placards  were  to  be  seen  in  every  street  The  recruit- 
ing-station of  the  regular  army  was  besieged  by  hun- 
dreds, until  the  staid  and  decorous  officer  in  charge,  to 
whom  the  requirements  of  red  tape  were  more  sacred 
than    holy  writ,   and   who    had    been   wont,  with    great 


1 88  J^^GS  ANJ)    THISTLES. 

labor  and  exhaustion  of  spirit,  to  muster  one  or  two 
per  week  before  that  time,  was  nearly  crazed  with  the 
pressure  on  his  hands,  and  fearful  either  to  accept  or 
refuse  without  further  orders.  One  regiment  of  volun- 
teers was  full  almost  before  the  lists  were  opened.  Men 
wept  because  there  was  no  chance  for  them  to  go  with 
the  very  first.  The  surgeon's  examination  was  looked 
forward  to  with  dread  by  those  vvho  were  enrolled,  lest 
they  should  even  yet  be  rejected. 

Before  night  the  lists  w^ere  opened  for  a  second 
regiment  to  go,  if  there  should  be  another  call.  If! 
How  little  vv'e  knew  of  what  that  dark  future  held  of 
woe  and  suffering ! 

There  were  impromptu  meetings  on  the  street- 
corners,  in  the  armories,  and  before  the  Court-House. 
Speeches  of  rare  eloquence  flashed  from  men  who  under 
ordinary  circumstances  were  dumb  or  prosy.  The  whole 
people  were  lifted  to  a  higher  plane  than  they  had  ever 
trod  before.  Wealth,  position,  talent — all  were  nothing; 
None  seemed  to  thmk  of  himself.  None  sought  for 
rank  or  place.  The  level  of  the  soldier  was  a  pinnacle 
of  glory.  The  rank  of  private  was  good  enough  for 
the  best.  To  save  the  country  in  any  place  was  envi- 
able He  that  could  distmguish  ''Shoulder  arms"  from 
a  "Present"  was  fortunate.  If  any  one  had  but  imper- 
fectly passed  through  the  manual  of  the  soldier,  he  was 
fit  for  a  lieutenantcy ;  if  that  of  the  company,  for  a 
captaincy;  and  if,  perchance,  he  had  a  smattering  of 
the  mysteries  by  which  battalions  are  mustered,  and 
could  transform  a  line  into  a  column,  at  rest  and  in 
motion,  talk  of  squares  and  echelons,  and  of  advancing 


FRO   PATRIA. 


189 


and  retreating  by  either  flank,  there  was  scarce  any 
height  of  military  power  to  which  he  might  not  aspire. 
Oak-leaves,  spread-eagles,  and  numberless  stars  were  in 
the  visible  horizon  of  such  a  one  ! 

The  drill-sergeant  was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Judges, 
lawyers,  professors,  authors,  editors — all  were  trash  be- 
side him.  Brains,  influence,  riches,  integrity — all  were 
nothing  to  a  trick  of  fence  or  power  to  mar  the  carcass 
of  an  imaginary  foe  with  scientific  lunge  and  thrust  of 
bayonet.  He  who  could  aim  and  fire  in  the  manner 
prescribed  in  the  manual  of  arms  was  to  be  envied ; 
he  wdio  could  load  in  the  times,  in  the  positions,  and 
with  the  motions  ordained,  was  a  marvel;  while  he 
who  could  make  four  muskets  stand  together  without 
extraneous  support  was  fit  for  the  table  of  the  gods! 

Markham  Churr  was  not  usually  impulsive,  but  he 
had  forgotten  all  of  his  past  which  lay  beyond  the 
reading  of  the  yesterday  morning's  extra.  He  had 
never  made  two  lines  jingle  in  his  life  before ;  but 
there  is  something  so  suggestive  of  marshaled  numbers 
in  marshaling  men,  that  something  akin  to  the  divine 
afflatus  seized  him  then,  and  he  wrote  some  crude  lines 
upon  a  scrap  of  paper,  on  the  steps  of  the  Court-House, 
while  an  unknown  orator  was  haranguing  the  unwearied 
crowd.  When  this  latter  individual  had  yelled  himself 
into  indistinguishable  hoarseness,  and  ceased  speaking 
from  necessity,  Markham  sprang  up  and  shrieked  out 
his  lines  to  the  shouting  mass.  Despite  its  crudeness, 
his  verse  was  a  success.  Jingle,  patriotism,  unspeakable 
devotion,  and  unflinching  boastfulness  suited  the  strange 
mood  of  these  staid  citizens  of  two  days  before.     Gray- 


I  go  FIGS  AiXn    THISTLES. 

haired  men  of  sense  and  taste  cheered  the  halting 
verses.  Again  and  again  he  was  called  upon  to  repeat 
them.  A  frantic  editor  offered  fifty,  a  hundred  dollars, 
for  them,  and,  having  succeeded  in  obtaining  them, 
proudly  announced  that  this  vvonderful  poem  would 
appear  in  his  paper  the  next  day.  No  wonder  Mark- 
ham  thought  himself  a  poet.  Thousands  of  clods  be- 
came heroes,  that  day,  in  very  truth.  It  was  an  exalta- 
tion which  can  come  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  If  his 
head  was  am.ong  the  stars,  it  was  not  from  mean  or 
selfish  aspirations,  but  because  he  was  lifted  out  of  his 
own  individuality  by  an  unselfish  and  noble  devotion. 
The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  as  he  stood  and  looked 
at  that  frenzied  crowd.  Could  it  be  that  he  was  one 
of  them  a  moment  before  ? 

He  stole  away  to  his  quiet  boarding-house  and 
locked  himself  into  his  little  room.  It  seemed  an  age 
since  the  dawn  of  yesterday.  He  had  scarcely  eaten 
or  slept  since  then.  He  threw  himself  upon  his  bed 
and  tried  to  think  what  he  had  done — and  what  had 
happened  since — since — he  had  lost  himself.  He  knew 
that  he  had  forgotten  Boaz  Woodley  and  the  task  to 
which  he  had  given  so  many  months,  Frank  Horton 
and — the  thought  gave  him  a  pang  of  remorse — Lizzie 
Harper,  and  the  love  of  his  life.  He  could  not  re- 
member when  a  day  had  passed  without  thought  of 
her,  before.  Not  for  years,  he  was  sure.  And  now, 
just  as  he  was  on  the  eve  of  going  to  her,  crowned  with 
success  in  the  first  effort  of  his  manhood,  she  had 
slipped  from  his  memory  and  he  had  loitered  all  day 
away  from   her!     He  was   to  have  started  at  midnight 


Tllh    DblLUGE.  191 

of  the  night  before.  If  he  had  done  so,  he  might  have 
been  with  her  now.  How  much  had  he  lost!  And 
yet  it  was  not  exactly  with  regret  chat  he  thought  of 
it.  It  was  rarely  one  had  a  chance  to  die  for  his 
country.  He  had  embraced  such  a  chance.  He  was 
one  of  those  to  whom  his  country  looked  for  succor. 
On  the  table  there  was  a  blue  cap  with  a  marvelous 
tilt  and  a  stiff,  straight  visor.  He  had  paid  a  fabulous 
price  for  it  that  day.  It  v/as  the  badge  of  his  devotion. 
He  was  a  soldier—"  Private  Markham  Churr,  of  Co.  E, 
nth  Regt.  N.  Y.  Vols."  That  was  his  euphonious  ap- 
pellation now.  He  was  not  one  of  those  favored  few 
who  were  of  the  first  call,  but  of  those  whom  the 
chief  magistrate  of  the  State  had  seen  fit  to  allow  to 
be  enrolled,  in  the  belief  that  more  might  be  needed. 
He  was  one  of  the  minute-menj  who  were  to  be  ever 
ready  when  freedom  should  demand  their  aid. 

Now  that  he  came  to  consider  his  position  coolly,  he 
was  not  sure  that  he  had  not  acted  with  too  much 
precipitation.  Was  he  quite  free  to  dispose  of  himself,  ^ 
before  he  had  reported  to  Boaz  Woodley  and  been 
discharged  from  the  trust  he  had  undertaken;  or  of 
his  future,  without  consultation  with  Lizzie  Harper, 
whose  future  was  linked  with  his?  But  he  felt  she 
would  approve,  and  he  was  by  no  means  disposed  to 
regret  his  act  or  avoid  its  consequences.  Yet,  as  it 
might  be  some  time  before  his  regiment  would  be 
actually  called  to  the  tented  held,  he  determined  that 
he  would  obtain  a  leave  of  absence  to  return  home 
and  arrange  his  personal  affairs,  that  they  might  not 
conflict  with  his  duties  to  his  country. 


jg2  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

So  this  unmustered  soldier  went  gravely  to  his  un- 
commissioned captain  and  obtained  an  unwritten  fur- 
lough for  two  weeks;  and  when  the  night-express  for 
the  West  swept  out  of  the  sleeping  city,  Markham 
Churr  sat,  with  beating  heart,  in  one  of  the  carriages, 
anticipating  the  joys  to  which  he  sped. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


BOAZ  WOODLEY  was  not  at  his  hotel  at  Aychi- 
tula  when  Markham  Churr  made  inquiry  for  him, 
but  they  said  that  he  would  be  there  on  the  second 
day  thereafter.  Markham  had  passed  Fairbank  on  his 
way  thither  because  of  his  sense  of  duty  to  his  em- 
ployer. That  duty  discharged,  he  was  at  liberty  to 
gratify  his  inclination.  There  was  no  train  eastward, 
stopping  at  Fairbank,  until  the  next  afternoon.  It  was 
less  than  a  score  of  miles,  with  as  fine  a  road  as  hoof 
ever  pressed.  He  went  to  a  livery-stable,  and  surprised 
the  owner  by  ordering  a  powerful  young  roan  to  be 
saddled  for  his  use. 

It  was  most  unusual  for  any  one  in  that  region  to 
make  a  journey  on  horseback,  and  Markham  Churr 
would  not  have  dreamed  of  doing  so  a  week  before. 
Then,  he  would  have  ordered  a  buggy  and  have  driven 
soberly  to  his  destination.  But  the  times  had  changed. 
He  had  changed.     And  he  wished  to  change  his  method 


♦W6>   LIMITATIOXr   ETC.  193 

of  locomotion.  The  tumult  which  had  begun  in  the 
nation  had  awakened  its  counterpart  in  his  breast,  and 
he  was  anxious  for  something  which  partook  of  the 
spirit  of  war.  He  would  renew  the  old  struggle  of 
man  with  Nature  even  as  he  went  upon  the  errand  of 
love.  So  he  vaulted  upon  his  horse  as  the  sun  went 
down  behind  a  threatening  cloud,  and  started  for  Fair- 
bank. 

How  exultingly  he  rode !  Between  love  and  pa- 
triotism and  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  his  heart  was 
almost  bursting.  He  rode  at  a  fitful  and  uneven  pace, 
now  in  a  swinging  gallop,  and  then  in  a  restive  walk. 
His  haste  consumed  the  distance,  and  he  longed  to  fly. 
The  cloud  which  had  threatened  at  sunset  came  up 
from  the  northwest  with  vivid  lightnings  and  heavy 
thunder.  The  corning  storm  suited  him.  He  bared 
his  brow  to  its  cool  breath  and   still  pressed  on. 

The  road-side  was  studded  with  pleasant  country 
homes.  They  were  friendly  homes,  too.  He  knew 
every  one  of  them,  and  knew  that  they  would  welcome 
him  as  gladly  as  one  of  their  accustomed  inmates.  But 
he  had  no  thought  of  entering  any  of  them.  It  was 
not  so  much  the  dread  of  delay  as  the  delight  of  en- 
countering the  storm  that  induced  him  to  continue  his 
course.  The  darkness  became  more  intense.  He  re- 
joiced because  it  hid  his  manifestation  of  pleasure 
from  observing  eyes.  The  horse  seemed  to  enjoy  it 
no  less  than  his  rider.  Strong  and  high-spirited,  the 
reverbrating  thunder  and  vivid  lightning  filled  him 
with  a  savage  impatience.  He  tore  along  the  strip  of 
white    sand    which    marked    the    road-way,    its  softness 


194  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

half-muffling  his  foot-falls,  at  a  pace  which  suited  well 
the  fiery  mood  of  his  rider.  An  hour,  and  half  his 
journey  had  been  accomplished ;  another,  and  they 
turned  sheer  to  the  north  and  crossed  to  a  road  which 
ran  along  the  high  bluff  that  bordered  the  lake.  He 
could  hear  the  water  moaning  and  thundering  as  the 
wind  hurled  it  against  the  bank,  and  by  the  flashes  of 
lightning  could  see  that  its  broad  bosom  was  covered 
thick  with  white-crested  waves,  chasing  each  other 
swiftly  towards  the  shore.  It  had  not  rained  yet,  but 
the  elemental  warfare  had  grown  so  fierce  that  it  could 
not  long  be  delayed.  Markham  Churr  looked  with 
defiant  eyes,  ever  and  anon,  towards  the  gathering 
storm,  and  wondered  if  the  strange  joy  he  felt  was  akin 
to  the  rage  which  the  warrior  feels  in  battle. 

At  length  he  sees  a  light  glimmering  through  the 
trees  at  Fairbank.  He  comes  nearer,  and  sees  a  white- 
robed  figure  kneeling  by  the  open  window.  Her  hands 
are  clasped  on  the  lov^^  casement,  and  the  breath  of  the 
spring  storm  blows  her  brown  hair  in  unconfined  luxu- 
riance about  her  shoulders.  Her  eyes  are  raised,  and 
Markham  Churr  feels  that  Lizzie  is  praying  for  him. 

His  had  been  too  busy  a  life,  as  he  thought,  for 
prayer.  He  had  been  so  absorbed  in  his  earthly  occu- 
pations and  prospects  that,  having  had  no  religious 
training  in  childhood  to  form  his  habits,  he  had  simply 
forgotten  the  life  beyond.  He  had,  however,  the  relig- 
ious instincts  which  his  Puritan  ancestors  could  not 
fail  to  transmit,  and  it  was  with  the  keenest  pleasure 
that  he  saw  her,  with  whom  he  hoped  to  pass  his  life,  in 
this  act  of  devotion.     He  came  to  the  gate  beneath  her 


''^'0  limitation;'  etc.  105 

window,  but  would  not  disturb  her.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  and  bowed  his  head  upon  his  horse's  mane,  bedew- 
ing it  with  tears  of  happiness.  When  he  raised  his 
eyes,  the  light  was  gone.  He  put  his  horse  at  the  low 
gate,  and  was  in  the  yard  in  a  moment.  The  great 
drops  were  beginning  to  fall,  and  the  lightning  showed 
him  the  watcher  above. 

"Who  is  it.?"  she  called. 

"I.  Markham."  He  had  no  need  to  have  uttered 
the  last  word.  At  the  very  first  accent  of  his  voice, 
there  had  gone  up  a  little  half-laugh,  half-scream  of 
joy,  and  then  a  voice  yet  tremulous  with  delight  had 
said  : 

"Take  your  horse  to  the  stable,  and  come  into  the 
porch.     I  will  be  there  in  a  moment." 

He  cared  for  his  horse,  and  came  back  to  the  porch. 
The  door  was  opened,  and  the  arms  of  Lizzie  Harper 
were  flung  about  his  neck,  just  as  the  storm  burst,  in 
long-suppressed  fury,  over  the  house. 

It  was  late,  but  sleep  was  not  to  be  thought  of  by 
those  joyous  hearts  until  the  tale  of  the  past  months 
had  been  told.  A  supper  was  soon  prepared,  and  while 
Markham  ate,  and  looked  his  love,  Lizzie  chatted, 
blushed,  and  chided  the  impetuosity  which  brought  him, 
at  such  an  hour  and  through  such  a  storm,  to  her  side. 
So,  while  the  elements  warred  without,  there  was  peace 
and  joy  within. 

The  next  day  Markham  spent  in  Paradise.  He  sat 
beside  his  betrothed,  as  she  wrought  upon  some  deft 
finery,  and  told  her  of  the  war  that  impended,  or  walked 


196  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

with  her  upon  the  beach,  noting  the  effect  of  last  night's 
storm,  and  detailing  the  various  steps  by  which  he  had 
at  length  found  a  foot  to  fit  his  casts.  What  wonder 
they  were  proud  and  happy,  and  that  the  shadow  im- 
pending over  the  country  rested  very  lightly  on  their 
young  hearts?  They  talked  of  the  future,  of  course, 
for  at  that  age  we  live  only  in  what  lies  before  us;  but 
it  was  of  their  future,  and  not  that  of  the  nation,  in 
which  they  were  m.ost  concerned. 

*' So  you  v.'ill  go  no  farther  with  Mr.  Woodley's 
matter.?"  said  Lizzie,  thoughtfully. 

"  No,"  answered  Markham.  ''  I  have  found  the  man, 
and  demonstrated  the  correctness  of  my  hypothesis  in 
regard  to  the  crime ;  and  now  that  I  have  done  so,  I 
feel  almost  grateful  for  the  national  convulsion  which 
relieves  me  from  further  prosecution  of  the  matter,  or 
the  man." 

"What  wall  Mr.  Woodley  say  about  it?"  she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  he  will  have  any  further  use  for 
my  services,"  he  replied. 

"  But  the  box — the  special  deposit  he  was  so  anxious 
about  ?"  she  persisted. 

"  I  suppose  Frank  will  reveal  its  whereabouts,  if  he 
has  not  already  squandered   it." 

"  You  do  not  expect  to  obtain  the  entire  amount 
he  offered  you,  then  ?"  she  suggested. 

"I  shall  report  to  him  what  I  have  learned,  and 
take  whatever  he  chooses  to  allow  me,  with  the  under- 
standing that  I  am  to  pursue  the  subject  no  further," 
he  answered,  with  decision. 

"And  when  will  you  do  this?" 


''NO  limitation:'   etc,  jgy 

"To-morrow." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  Markham  fre- 
quently complained  of  the  preoccupation  of  his  affi- 
anced. He  would  have  called  it  dullness  in  another. 
He  little  dreamed  the  cause  of  her  absent-mindedness, 
or  imagined,  when  he  retired  to  sleep,  that  in  an  adjoin- 
ing room  Lizzie  sat  upon  the  floor  with  Boaz  Woodley's 
special  deposit  spread  out  before  her.  She  sat,  leaning 
upon  a  chair,  her  brow  wrinkled  v/ith  thought,  for  a 
long  time.  All  at  once  her  countenance  brightened. 
She  took  a  slip  of  paper  from  her  writing-desk,  counted 
the  various  packages  of  bills,  and  made  upon  it  a  mem- 
orandum of  their  numbers  and  value.  Then  she  opened 
the  other  papers,  and  took  a  careful  minute  of  each. 
Then  she  replaced  them  all — as  she  thought — in  the 
tin  box,  put  it  back  in  her  trunk,  and,  kissing  her 
hand  tow^ards  the  room  v\'here  her  lover  slept,  with  her 
face  wreathed  in  archest  smiles  and  illuminated  with 
blushes,  sought  her  couch. 

The  next  morning  Markham  mounted  his  horse  to 
return  to  Aychitula.  He  rode  leisurely,  for  his  medi- 
tations were  of  the  sweetest;  and  the  westward-bound 
express  was  just  crossing  the  bridge,  a  rifle-shot  below, 
as  he  cantered  across  the  bottom  towards  the  old  bridge 
which  spanned  the  stream  betwixt  the  two  villages.  As 
it  sped  along,  from  one  of  the  windows  a  gloved  hand 
waved  a  handkerchief  towards  the  young  soldier,  who 
bent  to  his  saddle-bov/  in  recognition  of  the  salute, 
and  then  spurred  on  across  the  bridge,  heedless  of  the 
warning  legend  which  it  bore  in  quaint  black  letters, 
from  which  the  brown  wood   had   been  washed    away 


ig,8  J^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

until  they  stood  out  with  peculiar  prominence  from 
their  leaden  background  :  "  Five  dollars  fine  for  riding 
or  driving  this  bridge  faster  than  a  v\-alk." 

It  was  the  first  conflict  of  military  power  with  civil 
authority.'  What  did  he  care  for  fines  and  penalties? 
He  was  a  soldier,  and  this  was  an  act  of  "  military 
necessity."  He  wondered  what  old  friend  had  recog- 
nized and  saluted  him.  He  little  dreamed  that,  as  the 
train  sped  on,  it  bore  Lizzie  Harper,  laughing  quietly 
at  the  bewilderment  that  she  knew  her  lover  must  feel. 


Boaz  Woodley  listened  to  the  report  of  his  agent  in 
silence.  So  absolute  was  his  confidence  in  Thomas 
Horrton,  that  he  could  not  conceal  his  incredulity  in 
regard  to  the  guilt  of  the  son.  However,  as  Markham 
recounted  all  that  he  had  learned,  he  saw  that  the 
chain  of  evidence  was  perfectly  infrangible.  Every  link 
was  perfect,  and  there  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt 
that  Frank  Horton  had  committed  the  crime. 

The  conduct  of  Boaz  Woodley,  when  this  conclusion 
became  irresistible  to  his  mind,  was  a  great  surprise  to 
Markham.  Instead  of  displaying  any  of  the  relentless- 
ness  which  had  been  considered  an  element  of  his 
nature,  the  capitalist  seemed  at  once  to  be  seized  with 
pity  for  the  young  man  who  had  despoiled  him. 

"Poor  fellow!"  he  said,  with  a  sigh;  "  wliat  could 
have  induced  him  to  commit  such  an  act  of  folly  ?  He 
cam.e  precious  near  getting  off  scot-free,  though.  I 
don't  know  of  any  one  else  who  would  have  followed 
that  trail  as  keenly  and  resolutely  as  you  have  done, 
Churr.     Indeed,  I  don't  think  any  one  else  would  have 


"A'(9   LIMITATIOX:'   ETC.  199 

found  it  at  first.  But  what  made  him  do  it  ?  He 
must  have  been  very  hard-up  to  sacrifice  his  father's 
good  name  in  that  manner.     Does  he  gamble  V 

"  I  learned  that  he  used  to  play  some  about  that 
time,  but  never,  so  far  as  I  could  hear,  beyond  his 
ability  to  pay,"  answered  Markham. 

"Aye,  that  is  it,"  said  Woodley,  bitterly.  "Do  you 
play.^"  he  asked,  suddenly,  turning  upon  Markham. 

"I  am  almost  ashamed  to  say  that  I  do  not  know 
one  card  from  another,"  answered  the  young  man. 

"Ashamed,  eh?"  said  Woodley.  "That's  the  very 
root  of  the  evil.  A  young  man  is  not  considered  fit 
for  society,  unless  he  knows  enough  to  rob  or  has  a  taste 
which  may  lead  him  to  steal.  Don't  be  ashamed,  sir," 
he  added,  with  strange  vehemence,  "  but  thank  God  for 
your  ignorance.  Many  a  heavy  heart  would  be  light 
to-day  if  others  had  been  as  ignorant  as  you.  Many 
a  crime  would  not  have  been  committed,  many  a  life 
would  never  have  been  blasted,  but  for  this  accursed 
temptation,  which  nobody  condemns  until  it  bears 
bitter  fruit." 

Seeing  Markham's  look  of  surprise,  Woodley  checked 
himself,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow  and  settling 
his  face  into  its  wonted  impassive  lines.  After  a  mo- 
ment, he  said : 

"You  are  surprised  at  what  I  have  said,  but  you 
know  me  well  enough  to  be  quite  sure  that  I  would 
not  speak  thus  without  sufficient  reason.  Remember 
it  if  you  are  ever  asked  to  play.  But  now,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  about  this  boy,  Frank,  I  ca7it  prosecute  him ; 
no,  I  cati't.     Boaz  Woodley  does  not  often  shrink  from 


200  J'^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

any  task,  but  I  cant  do  this.  Don't  ask  me  why.  If 
he  will  return  what  he  has  not  used,  it  must  be  hushed 
up.  His  father  can,  perhaps,  make  the  bank  whole. 
So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  will  not  be  hard.  But 
we  must  have  the  special  deposit.  I  can't  lose  those 
papers.  -  I'd  give  half  my  fortune  rather  than  lose 
them.  You  must  go  and  see  him  and  arrange  that. 
Ycu  can  start  to-night.  No,  there  is  no  need  of  such 
haste.     I  do  not  suppose  he  suspects  anything." 

"  I  saw  him  on  Saturday,  and  he  showed  no  sign 
of  suspicion,"  said  Markham. 

"Saturday!"  said  Woodley.  "That  was  before  this 
infernal  war-news  came  V 

"Yes." 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  elder  man,  suddenly,  "why 
shouldn't  Frank  go  into  the  army.^" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Markham,  wonderingly. 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  said  the  other,  exultingly. 
"  It's  the  very  thing.  He  can  just  turn  over  v>hat 
he  has  left,  his  father  can  secure  the  rest,  nothing 
more  need  be  said  about  it,  and  he  will  have  an 
equal  chance  to  make  himself  a  good  name  or  get 
killed,  either  of  which  would  be  a  very  good  thing  for 
his  family."  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  once 
or  twice,  in  evident  satisfaction  at  the  plan  which  he 
had  devised. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  finally,  "that's  the  very  thing.  Let 
me  have  your  journal  and  accounts,  -and  be  ready  'to 
start  off  again  soon.  I  will  look  over  what  you  have 
done.  We  must  have  a  settlement,  and  I  will  prepare 
some  instructions  for  you. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

MORE    THAN    WAS    BARGAINED    FOR. 

WHEN,  an  hour  later,  Markham  Churr  went  to 
post  a  letter  to  Lizzie  Harper,  stating  the  re- 
sult of  his  interview. with  Woodley,  the  old  postmaster 
peered  over  his  spectacles  at  him  curiously,  and,  after 
inquiring  his  name,  handed  him  a  bulky  enclosure  di- 
rected to  him,  and  marked  "personal  and  impor- 
tant." He  opened  the  envelope  with  a  listless  curiosity, 
but  a  glance  at  its  contents  drove  the  color  from  his 
face,  and  sent  him,  trembling  with  excitement,  to  his 
room,  where,  having  locked  the  door,  he  read  the  fol- 
lowing :  4 

"R ,  N.  Y.,  Apfil  i6,  1861. 

"Markham  Churr:  I  have  just  learned  that  you 
have  been  engaged  in  working  up  the  robbery  of  the 
Aychitula  Bank,  and  also,  that  you  have  been  making 
inquiries  in  regard  to  myself  in  this  city,  and  have  left 
for  Aychitula. 

"It  seems  hard  that  an  old  school-mate  should  have 
been  upon  my  trail  for  months,  trying  to  prove  that 
I  am  a  thief.  Yet  I  do  not  blame  you.  I  know  it 
was  not  from  any  ill-feeling  towards  me,  and  I  doubt 
if  at  first  I  was  even  suspected.  I  am  assured,  how- 
ever, that  you  have  done  your  work  well,  and  have 
unmistakable  proof  of  my  guilt.     Strangely  enough,  you 


202  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

are  the  only  man  I  have  seen  since  the  robbery,  who 
ever  lived  near  Aychitula,  that  I  have  not  suspected 
as  following  me.  Yet  you  have  been  entirely  fair. 
You  have  not  presumed  on  our  old  acquaintance,  nor 
sought  to  obtain  evidence  against  me  through  the  con- 
fidence of  personal  friendship.  Of  course,  I  had  no 
right  to  be  treated  with  such  delicacy,  but  you  may  not 
be  unwilling  to  receive  the  thanks  even  of  a  thief  for 
such  consideration.  It  is  the  knowledge  that  you  have 
been  thus  considerate  which  has  induced  me  to  address 
you  thi?  letter. 

"  I  committed  the  robbery  without  the  aid,  counsel 
or  knowledge  of  any  other  person  whatever.  So  far 
as  I  am  aware,  no  one  ever  knew  or  suspected  that 
I  had  any  connection  \vith  it  until  you  traced  it  to  me 
through,  the  money  I  paid  to  Peter  Wrenn.  In  regard 
to  the  manner  of  its  accomplishment,  I  doubt  not  you 
have  already  unraveled  whatever  of  mystery  there  may 
have  been  about  it. 

"  Some  weeks  before  the  robbery,  I  had  secretly  pro- 
vided myself  with  impressions  of  all  the  keys  which 
were  in  my  father's  possession,  and  had  prepared 
the  window  so  that  it  could  be  raised  from  the  out- 
side. To  do  this  was  not  difficult.  My  relations  to  the 
cashier  made  me  familiar  with  the  business  of  the  bank. 
Ever  since  I  was  twelve  years  old,  I  have  been  a  sort 
of  supernumerary  clerk  in  it,  so  that  I  was  not  likely 
to  be  watched  or  suspected.  Despite  my  father's 
anxiety  in  regard  to  the  keys,  he  is  a  very  sound  sleeper, 
as  also  is  my  mother.  Of  course  I  was  well  aware 
of  this,  and  had  for  years  taken  advantage  of  it  to  go 


MORE    THAN    WAS  BARGAIXED   FOR.  203 

in  and  out  of  the  house  without  their  knowledge.  I 
took  the  keys  from  under  his  pillow  while  he  slept, 
made  impressions  of  them,  put  them  back,  and  when 
I  returned  here  had  duplicates  made,  one  at  a  time 
and  at  different  places,  so  as  to  avoid  suspicion. 

"  On  the  night  the  robbery  v/as  committed,  I  jumped 
off  the  Western  express  at  the  water-tank,  and  walked 
into  town.  The  clock  struck  twelve  just  after  I  entered 
my  father's  grounds.  I  took  the  short  ladder  in  his 
garden,  carried  it  along  the  fence  to  the  bank,  climbed 
up  and  opened  the  window,  swung  off  the  sill  to  the 
floor,  struck  a  light,  and  went  to  work.  I-  took  specie,  , 
and  bills  under  five  dollars.  I  had  intended  to  take 
three  thousand  dollars.  For  a  reason  you  will  under- 
stand hereafter  I  concluded  to  try  for  double  that 
amount.  I  dared  not  take  large  bills,  and  had  to  risk 
some  special  deposits,  as  being  less  likely  to  be  re- 
corded. I  had  no  time  to  examine  them,  and  had  to 
guess  at  their  value.  A  cash-box,  vv'ith  Woodley's 
name  attached,  attracted  my  attention.  After  leav- 
ing the  bank,  with  the  spade  used  in  our  garden 
I  took  up  the  second  currant-bush  from  the  east 
end  of  the  row  running  down  from  the  house,  and 
buried  the  box  under  it.  I  have  not  seen  it  since.  If 
you  dig  there  you  will  find  it.  As  there  has  been  no 
special  outcry  made  about  it,  I  conclude  it  was  of 
little  value.  It  probably  contained  papers  which  may 
be  of  some  value  to  Woodley,  if  not  to  others.  Of  the 
money  which  I  took,  I  have  spent,  in  the  manner  I  shall 
hereafter  state,  all  except  the  amount  of  a  check  which 
I  have  drawn  to  your  order  upon  the  Shoe  &  Leather 


204  F^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

Bank,  of  New  York  City,  which  I  shall  forward,  with 
other  papers,  by  express.  Besides  this,  I  have  retained 
one  hundred  dollars  for  my  present  needs. 

"  I  went  back  to  the  depot,  and  got  on  the  3:20  train 
going  east,  without  having  been  seen  by  any  one  at 
the  station  or  meeting  any  one  I  knew  on  the  train. 
I  paid  my  fare  to  the  conductor  as  far  as  Erie.  There 
I  waited  for  another  train,  went  on  to  Dunkirk  and 
took  the  Erie  Road  to  New  York  and  Philadelphia. 

"  This  is  the  true,  story  of  the  crime.  I  would  not 
have  told  it  so  specifically  but  for  the  fear  that 
others  might  be  thought  to  be  concerned  in  it  with 
me. 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  never  intended  perma- 
nently to  convert  the  money.  I  merely  wanted  to  use 
it  for  a  time.  The  intention  to  return  it  is  not  the 
result  of  detection.  I  never  had  any  other  purpose.  I 
am  not  begging  for  mercy.  I  am  making  no  appeal 
for  myself.  I  am  not  trying  to  evade  punishment  for 
my  offence.  I  am  not  a  condemned  criminal,  and 
never  expect  to  be.  I  am  not  in  the  power  of  those  I 
have  injured,  and  have  no  intention  of  putting  myself 
there.  Why  you  did  not  arrest  me  I  cannot  guess; 
but  I  shall  take  care  that  you  never  have  another 
opportunity  to  do  so.  I  shall  repay  what  I  took,  even 
if  it  requires  a  lifetime  to  do  it ;  but  I  will  not  give 
myself  up  to  be  made  a  spectacle  of. 

"  It  is  now  nearly  four  years  since  I  came  here  to 
attend  college.  You  may  know,  though  my  parents 
never  suspected  it,  that,  even  before  that  time,  I  was 
what  is  known,  among  strait-laced   people,  as   a  *  wild 


MORE    THA.V    JVAS  BARGAINED   EOR.  205 

chap.'  I  drank  some,  played  a  little,  and  liked  to 
spree  much  better  than  to  study.  Whether  it  was  the 
reaction  from  restraints  at  home,  or  the  natural  results 
of  total  depravity,  I  cannot  say.  On  coming  here,  I 
soon  fell  among  a  class  of  young  fellows  who  were  of 
the  sarfje  stamp,  only  most  of  them  were  rather  worse 
than  I  was  at  that  time,  though  I  have  no  idea  any 
one  of  thera  has  fallen  as  low  as  I  now  have.  They 
did  not  tcnipt  me,  but  we  encouraged  each  other  in  a 
great  deal  of  questionable  conduct.  My  father,  though 
in  comfortable  circumstances,  was  by  no  means  rich. 
It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  spare  enough,  year 
by  year,  to  meet  my  term-bills  and  board,  and  give  me 
a  very  moderate  allowance  for  incidentals.  Of  course 
this  allowance  was  quite  insufficient  to  enable  me  to 
hold  my  place  in  my  'set.'  Besides,  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  play,  which  I  did  at  first  for  the 
excitement  of  the  game,  and  afterwards  with  the  gam- 
bler's hope  of  profit  or  the  recoupment  of  loss.  To- 
wards the  close  of  my  second  year,  luck  seemed  to 
turn  against  me.  I  struggled  hard,  pawned  everything 
I  had,  and  finally  took  the  money  my  father  had  sent 
to  meet  my  bills  since  the  beginning  of  the  term— and 
lost  that  also.  Of  course  I  was  desperate,  and  stricken 
with  remorse  when  it  was  too  late.  I  thought  of  a 
thousand  expedients  to  avoid  the  shame  of  exposure — 
of  striking  out  for  the  West,  of  shipping  on  a  whaler, 
of  everything  rather  than  of  going  home  for  my  vaca- 
tion. I  thought  I  could  never  meet  my  father  after  he 
knew  of  my  course.  I  think  it  would  have  ended  in 
my  taking  a  header  over  the   Falls  here — as  I   almost 


2o6  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

wish  now  that  it  had — if  my  mother  had  not  sent  me  a 
hundred  dollars  just  before  Commencement,  and  written 
me  that  I  might  go  and  spend  a  month  with  my  cousins 
in  Massachusetts.  This  helped  me  out  of  one  trouble, 
but  into  a  worse. 

"Oil  had  been  discovered,  a  little  while  before,  near 
Titusville,  Pa.  I  was  familiar  with  the  country,  having 
often  hunted  and  fished  through  that  region.  I  heard 
that  men  were  crowding  in  there,  and  that  speculation 
was  rife.''  By  selling  a  few  articles,  I  could  raise  money 
enough  to  go  there,  and  have  the  hundred  dollars  my 
mother  had  sent,  for  operating  capital  after  my  arrival. 
Of  course  I  did  not  go  to  Massachusetts;  I  did  not 
even  wait  to  deliberate.  Forestalling  the  long  vacation 
by  a  fortnight,  I  was  off  for  the  '  oil  regions,'  to  try  my 
luck  in  whatever  might  turn  up  :  work,  speculation — 
anything  by  wdiich  I  might  make  money  enough  to 
repay  wdiat  I  had  misapplied.  That  was  all  I  desired, 
and  more  than  I  really  expected. 

"  Well,  I  was  fortunate — or  I  was  counted  so.  I 
did  not  have  to  gamble  to  make  money — at  least, 
not  with  cards.  I  bought  oil  territory,  paying  my  little 
capital  dowm,  as  a  margin,  and  having  a  few  days  to 
make  up  the  rest.  Before  they  elapsed,  I  sold  at  an 
advance;  and  so  I  kept  on.  It  had  all  the  excitement 
of  gaming.  Long  before  the  vacation  was  over  I  had 
paid  my  debt;  but  I  did  not  stop  speculating.  I  could 
not.  On  one  occasion  there  came  a  chance  to  buy 
a  piece  of  property  which  I  was  certain  I  could 
sell  at  a  considerable  advance  in  a  short  time.  A 
party   had    spoken    to   me    a    fortnight    before,    but    I 


MORE    THAN    WAS  BARGAINED   FOR.  207 

could  not  raise  the  money  to  make  the  first  payment. 
I  tried  every  possible  means  to  do  so.  I  begged  for 
just  twenty-four  hours'  indulgence.  I  could  not  get  it, 
but  was  given  until  after  the  mail  should  arrive  the 
next  day.  I  rode  over  to  the  nearest  post-office,  and 
mailed  a  letter  to  myself.  It  contained  a  thirty-days' 
draft,  purporting  to  have  been  accepted  by  my  father. 
It  was  received  without  question.  I  made  the  purchase, 
and  in  less  than  a  week  sold  at  a  good  profit,  and  took 
up  the  draft.  Fatal  success  !  I  did  this  several  times 
when  I  could  not  promptly  raise  as  much  money  as  I 
needed,  but  was  always  able  to  pay  the  paper  off  before 
it  was  due,  and  avoid  detection.  I  went  back  to  college 
in  September.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  felt  very 
badly  over  what  I  had  done,  but  I  did  not.  I  wrote 
to  my  mother  v/here  I  had  been ;  and  that  I  was  able 
to  pay  my  own  term-bills  for  the  next  year.  Of  course 
I  did  not  tell  her  the  whole  truth.  I  did  not  gamble 
after  my  return.  My  oil  speculations  afforded  the  same 
character  of  excitement,  and  a  great  deal  more  of  it. 
I  was  ambitious,  too,  to  acquire  money  for  greater 
speculations.  I  seemed  to  have  become  a  man  all  at 
once.  Every  now  and  then,  during  the  year,  I  would 
run  down  to  the  oil  region,  and  kept  my  hand  in  some 
speculation  all  the  time.  All. of  these  turned  out  well. 
My  luck  became  proverbial.  Sometimes  I  bought  or 
sold  at  a  profit  when,  if  I  had  waited  an  hour,  it 
would  have  been  ruin.  You  would  be  surprised  to 
know  how  much  I  was  really  '  worth  '  at  times  during 
that  winter. 

''At  length  a    tract  of  land   was   offered— the  Mc- 


2o8  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

Cormick  land — in  the  development  of  which  I  had 
great  confidence.  1  had  studied  the  matter  of  oil- 
production  very  carefully,  and  with  better  light  of 
geological  science  than  most  speculators  care  to 
secure.  I  was  very  anxious  to  buy  this  tract,  being 
confident  that  there  was  a  fortune  in  'it — as  there 
is.  I  went  to  see  my  father,  and  tried  to  persuade  him 
to  join  me  in  raising  the  money.  He  refused;  but  I 
could  not  give  the  matter  up.  By  day  and  by  night  it 
was  present  to  my  mind — the  absolute  conviction  that 
almost  unbounded  wealth  was  within  my  reach.  I 
could  not  throw  it  off,  though  I  tried  my  best.  Such 
a  thing  as  doubt  never  entered  my  mind,  and  has  not 
yet.  After  a  month  of  chaffering,  I  finally  bought  the 
tract,  making  an  arrangement  with  Peter  Wrenn,  who 
had  been  watching  my  course,  and  believed  in  my  luck, 
that  be  should  advance  the  money,  and  take  my  notes 
for  six  thousand  dollars — the  balance  over  what  I  could 
pay — with  my  father  and  Boaz  Woodley  as  security. 
As  you  are  aware,  I  gave  such  notes.  As  a  further 
security,  I  gave,  him,  also,  a  mortgage  on  the  property 
which  I  bought. 

"  No  sooner  had  I  Vnade  this  trade  than  fortune 
turned  against  me.  It  seemed  as  if  all  demand  for 
this  new  product  of  the  earth  had  ceased.  Oil  became 
a  drug.  From  many  wells  it  was  allowed  to  run  into 
the  Creek  and  float  away,  the  owners  not  deeming  it 
worth  storing.  An}  one  would  give  a  barrel  of  oil  for 
a  cask  to  put  another  forty  gallons  in.  Of  course,  what 
had  been  the  best  of  territory  became  temporarily 
worthless.     I  had  relied  on  selling  part  of  my  tract  to 


MORE    THAN    WAS  BARGAINED   FOR.  209 

meet  my  notes  at  three  and  six  months.  I  could  hardly 
liave,  given  it  away.  I  could  not  make  a  loan.  I 
could  not  risk  the  protest  of  the  notes.  So  I  'bor- 
rowed '  the  money  of  the  Aychitula  Bank  to  meet 
them ;  that  is,  I  committed  robbery  to  hide  forgery.  I 
paid  one  of  the  notes,  and  hoped  for  better  times  before 
the  other  came  due.  They  did  not  come.  Still  I 
waited.  Then  you  discovered  both  robbery  and  for- 
gery. 

"I  can't  complain.  I  had  hoped,  before  it  could 
be  traced  to  me,  to  sell  my  oil  property,  and  anony- 
mously return  every  centj  on  condition  that  all  search 
for  the  robber  should  be  abandoned.  The  bank  would 
have  been  willing.  Success  makes  a  vast  difference.  I 
lost,  however,  and  must  take  the  consequences.  It  is 
right.  I  have  deserved  the  heaviest  punishment.  I 
was  not  tempted,  nor  overpersuaded,  nor  misled  by 
others.  I  fell  through  my  own  weakness  and  desire  to 
accomplish  great  things.  I  have  no  one  to  blame,  and 
blame  no  one,  but  myself. 

"Now  I  have  only  this  to  say:  All  but  three  thou- 
sand dollars  is  paid  on  that  land.  In  a  few  years  it 
will  be  worth  a  hundred  times  that  amount.  I  have 
studied  the  matter,  and  know  of  what  I  write.  I  have 
conveyed  my  interest  in  it  to  my  father.  Of  course 
he  is  not  bound  to  repay  to  the  bank  what  I  have 
taken.  In  consideration  of  his  doing  so,  however,  will 
they  not  consent  to  say  nothing  about  my  connection 
with  the  affair  until  they  shall  have  me  in  their  power  ? 
Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  be  arrested.  I  am  sure  I 
shall  not  be.     The  land  will  sometime  make  my  father 


2IO  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

whole,  and  only  three  or  four  need  ever  know  his  shame 
on  account  of  my  crime.  That  is  the  chief  object 
of  this  letter. 

"  For  me,  I  know  I  have  been  a  fool  and  a  scoundrel. 
I  do  not  see  that  whining  and  protestations  of  sorrow 
would  change  that.  At  the  same  time,  I  believe  that 
there  is  yet  manhood  enough  in  me  to  make  a  fair 
average  in  the  world,  and  that  the  war  now  upon  us 
will  give  me  the  opportunity  to  redeem  myself.  I  shall 
try  it,  at  all  events ;  I  do  not  know  in  what  capacity, 
nor  on  which  side.  I  do  not  mean  to  defy  those  whom 
I  have  wronged,  but  I  will  not  surrender  myself  to  be 
crushed  by  punishment  or  damned  by  commiserating 
forgiveness.  If  I  can  redeem  the  past,  I  will.  If  not, 
I  can  at  least  avoid  public  humiliation. 

"  Tell  my  father  I  cannot  write  to  him  now.  I  know 
he  will  forgive  me,  but  I  have  done  him  too  great  an 
injury  to  be  able  to  endure  his  kindness.  Please  give 
him  the  papers  I  send  you,  after  making  such  an  exam- 
ination of  them  as  you  desire. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  Amy  Levis.  I  was  to  have 
been  something  more.  Tell  her  as  much  or  as  little 
as  you  please  of  what  is  in  this  letter.  I  know  I  have 
no  right  to  be  considered.  I  have  forfeited  all  that. 
Yet  I  would  ask — if  you  deem  it  proper — should  the 
bank  consent  to  screen  my  father's  good  name  upon  the 
terms  I  have  indicated,  that  she  may  be  told  only  that 
I  have  entered  the  army.  Her  mother  has  forbidden 
our  correspondence,  so  she  will  not  expect  to  hear  from 
me.  I  would  like  to  have  her  know  where  to  pray  for 
me,  at  least.     It  seems  as   if  I  should   stand  a  better 


MORE    THAN    WAS  BARGAINED  FOR.         211 

chance  with  the  future  if  she  did.  I  leave  it  to  your 
kindness  and  discretion,  however.  I  understand  that 
you  go  into  the  nth  N.  Y.  Volunteers.  Should  the 
fortunes  of  war  be  favorable  to  my  hopes  of  honorable 
advancement,  and  we  ever  be  thrown  together,  I  may 
make  myself  known.  If  not,  this  is  the  last  time  I 
shall  intrude  upon  your  attention. 

"Frank  W.  Horton." 

When  Markham  had  finished  the  perusal  of  this 
letter,  he  took  it  to  his  employer. 

"  Confound  his  impudence,"  said  Woodle}%  after 
having  read  it.  "  I  can't  help  liking  him.  He  is  cer- 
tainly sensible  and  plucky,  and  I'll  bet  on  his  coming 
out  right  in  the  end.  I'm  glad  he's  going  into  the 
army.  The  very  idea  I  suggested,  you  remember.  I 
do  hope  he  won't  go  with  the  South,  though.  Of 
course  we'll  let  his  father  do  as  he  proposes.  It  would 
be  cruel  to  disgrace  him  for  nothing.  So  far  as  I  can 
see,  you,  he  and  myself  are  all  who  need  know  any- 
thing of  the  matter.     Of  course  you  won't  tell  the  girl.^" 

''  Certainly  not,  if  you  consent  that  it  shall  not  be 
generally  known,"  answered  Markham. 

''Then  we  may  as  well  have  Horton  in  and  make 
the  arrangements  at  once,"  said  Woodley. 

"  But  the  papers  have  not  come  yet,"  suggested 
Markham. 

"That's  "so,  and  we  have  not  got  hold  of  my  cash- 
box,  either,"  said  Woodley.  "  The  scamp  thought  there 
was  not  much  in  it  because  I  did  not  make  a  blow 
about  it,  eh  ?  Besides  that  $10,000  package,  there  was 
a  paper  there  which  I  would  not  lose  for  half  my  estate 


212  P^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

— not  for  half  my  estate,  Mr.  Churr,"  he  continued, 
emphatically.  "  As  for  the  money,  I'm  half  sorry  he 
did  not  take  it  and  lift  that  ugly  note  of  Wrenn's.  That 
is  a  nasty  thing — that  forgery.  I  wish  he  had  taken 
the  money  and  then  settled  with  me  far  it.  I  heard 
about  his  speculations  on  the  Creek,  too,  and  know  the 
McCormickland  which  he  bought.  I  had  some  notion 
of  making  the  purchase  myself,  and  would  have  done 
so  if  I  had  been  as  sure  of  the  business  as  I  am  now. 
I  declare  I  am  sorry  the  fellow  has  gone.  Especially 
as  I  am  afraid  he  will  go  over  to  the  other  side  on 
account  of  this,  and  it  is  a  pity  for  the  country  to  lose 
such  good  material  at  this  time." 

It  was  finally  agreed  that  Wdodley  and  Markham 
should  go  and  dig  up  the  box,  by  stealth,  that  night, 
to  save  the  cashier's  name  from  the  suspicion  that 
would  arise  if  it  were  done  by  daylight. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  record  the  disappointment  which 
resulted  from  their  search. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII, 

APPROVED    AND    CONFIRMED. 

THE    next  morning  Boaz  Woodley   sent  for   Mark- 
ham,  and  said  to  him: 
"  I    have    examined    your    report,    expense-account, 
and   journal,  and  you  will   allow  me  to   say  that  I  am 
much  pleased  with  your  conduct  in  this  matter.     You 


APPROVED   AND    CONFIRMED.  213 

have  been  watchful,  prudent  and  persevering.  I  know 
I  am  counted  a  hard  man,  but  I  am  always  willing 
to' give  any  one  credit  for  doing  well.  I  have  drawn 
up  a  statement  of  account  on  the  basis  of  one  hundred 
dollars  a  month,  and  one  thousand  dollars  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  criminal.  It  shows  a  balance  in  your 
favor  of  $1,547.23,  for  which  amount  I  have  drawn 
a  check  to  your  order.  Is  that  correct.?"  he  asked, 
handing  Markham  the  statement  of  account  and  the 
check, 

"But  I  have  not  apprehended  the  criminal,"  said 
Markham,  hesitatingly. 

"  Very  true,"  said  Woodley,"  but  you  would  have 
done  so  if  I  had  not  restrained  your  action,  which  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  having  done,  after  what  we  learned 
last  night.  I  think  you  are  fairly  entitled  to  that 
amount,  as  you  would  have  been  to  the  thousand  dollars 
additional  if  we  had  found  the  box.  Take  it,"  he 
added,  pushing  the  check  towards  him. 

Markham  Churr  had  never  had  that  amount  of 
money  at  one  time  in  his  life,  and  was  profuse  in  his 
thanks,  when  Woodley  checked  him  somewhat  abruptly 
with — "  No  thanks,  no  thanks,  young  man.  Thanks  are 
for  favors  conferred,  and  not  for  the  simple  payment  for 
service  rendered.  I  have  had  your  work  andyou  have 
my  money.  They  are  equivalents.  So  there  is  no  room 
for  gratitude.  There  may  be  mutual  esteem  result- 
ing from  our  relations.  I  hope  there  is;  but  no 
thanks." 

Markham  folded  the  check  and  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  then  said  : 


21-4  J^^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

"  May  I  ask  what  will  be  your  future  course  toward 
Horton?" 

"  I  was  about  to  speak  of  that.  I  have  not  deter- 
mined on  any  definite  plan  of  action,  and,  if  I  had, 
might  not  feel  inclined  to  disclose  it.  He  is  evidently  on 
his  guard  as  to  you,  so  you  could  not  help  me  any  more." 

"  If  I  could,  I  should  prefer  not  to  do  so,"  inter- 
rupted Markham. 

"  I  inferred  as  much,"  said  Woodley.  "  Of  course 
after  that  wild-goose  chase  of  last  night,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve a  word  in  his  letter,  except  that  he  is,  as  he  says, 
a  thief  and  a  scoundrel." 

"I  forgot  to  say,"  said  Markham,  "that  I  received 
the  papers  he  referred  to,  by  express,  this  morning.  I 
will  get  them." 

He  went  to  his  room,  and  returned  with  a  large 
bundle  of  papers,  neatly  folded,  and  endorsed  in  the 
handwriting  of  Horton.  Woodley  ran  them  over  quick- 
ly, taking  out  one  or  two. 

"Have  you  examined  them.'"  he  asked. 

"Only  hastily,"  ansv/ered  Markham, 

"  Look  them  over  thoroughly,  make  a  careful  list 
of  them,  and  then  return  them  to  me,"  said  Woodley, 
handing  them  back  to  him,  adding : 

"  Though  I  have  not  decided  upon  any  course  as 
to  Frank,  I  will  say  that  I  have  concluded  not  to  do 
anything  to  disturb  his  father." 

"  You  will  let  him  make  good  the  loss,  then,  and 
say  nothing  about  Frank's  guilt .?" 

"Yes,  for  the  present — unless  I  find  that  his  father 
was  an  accomplice,"  replied  Woodley. 


AT  PRO  y ED   AXD    CON  I' I  KM  ED.  215 

"I  thought  nothing  could  make  you  believe  ill  cf 
him,"  said  Markham,  smiling. 

"  Last  night>  experience  has  made  me  suspicious 
of  everybody,  I  think,"  answered  Woodley.  "  If  the 
fool  had  told  the  truth  in  his  letter,  1  would  have  been 
glad  to  let  the  past  go,  and  would  even  have  helped 
him  in  the  future.  Do  you  suppose  he  came  on  here 
with  his  letter  and  lifted  that  box  .?" 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  The  earth  did  not  seem  to 
have  been  recently  moved,"  said  Markham,  "  and  it 
would  be  entirely  inconsistent  with  his  idea  of  its  value 
or  his  expressed  intentions." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Suppose  he  had  decided 
to  go  into  the  rebel  army,  he  might  have  thought  this 
vv'ould  give  him  something  to  start  with  in  Dixie,  and 
concluded  that  he  might  as  well  '  die  for  a  sheep  as  a 
lamb.'  Well,  I  shall  have  to  wait,  and  let  time  develop 
my  plans.  Meantime,  I  suppose  we  need  not  talk  about 
any  further  relation  in  business,  though  such  a  thing 
was  mentioned  at  the  outset.  They  tell  me  you  have 
determined  to  go  into  the  army." 

"I  have  enhsted,"  said  Markham.  "I  have  only  a 
few  days'  leave,  which  I  obtained  to  close  up  your 
business." 

"And  see  your  sweetheart  ?"  said  Woodley,  smiling. 

"Well,  yes,  I  thought  of  that,"  answered   Markham. 

"  What  position  do  you  expect  to  hold  in  your  regi- 
ment V 

"  What  position  V 

"Yes,  what  position,  I  asked,"  said  Woodley,  testily. 

"A  private,  of  course,"  replied  Markham,  in  surprise. 


2i6  J^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

'^  Of  course  f'  exclaimed  Woodley,  angrily;  "there's 
no  '  of  course '  about  it.  You  have  been  occupying 
your  whole  time  heretofore  in  preparing  yourself  for 
life,  and  now  you  go,  in  a  moment  of  boyish  enthusiasm, 
and  level  yourself  with  the  dullest  plow-boy  or  lowest 
rowdy  in  the  land !  What  are  schools  and  colleges 
made  for,  if  men  leave  them  worth  no  more  than  when 
they  entered  ?" 

"  But  schools  and  colleges  do  not  teach  the  art  of 
war,  or  have  not  heretofore,"  answered  Markham  ;  "and 
the  man  with  a  bachelor's  degree  cannot  charge  a  mus- 
ket or  handle  a  bayonet  any  better  than  one  who  has 
not  learned  the  alphabet." 

"You-  speak  as  if  war  were  nothing  but  fighting," 
said  Woodley.  "  You  ought  to  know  that  the  art  of 
war  embraces  all  other  arts.  In  our  day,  fighting  is 
the  least  part  of  it.  It  is  not  so  much  physical  power 
which  is  required  as  brain  power;  not  courage  alone, 
but  capacity.  W^ar,  a  great  war,  in  this  age,  calls  for 
men  who  know  everything;  and  a  man  who  knows 
anything  thoroughly,  and  can  do  it  well,  is  adapted  to 
fill  a  niche,  and  should  be  put  into  it.  You  would  not 
contend  that  those  beefy  fellows  who  first  took  hold  of 
the  matter  you  have  had  in  hand  could  have  followed 
it  as  neatly,  deftly,  and  certainly  as  you  have  done, 
although  they  are  professional  '  detectives,'  and  you 
were  not.  Yet  1  have  no  doubt  that  your  captain  is 
as  dull  a  piece  as  that  drayman  yonder;  and,  perhaps, 
your  colonel  a  drunken  braggart  or  played-out  politi- 
cian." 

"  But  it  will  be   only  for  a  short  time,  you  know," 


APPROVED  AND    CONFIRMED.  217 

said  Markham ;  "  and  I  am  too  grateful  at  being  allowed 
to  serve  my  country  at  all  to  cavil  about  the  place  I 
am  to  stand  in." 

"Just  so,"  said  Woodley,  "I  cannot  help  honoring 
you  for  the  sentiment,  but  must  say  it  is  the  most  fool- 
ish notion  that  ever  got  into  a  brain  as  sound  as  yours 
usually'  is  in  its  deductions.  If  a  man  owes  it  to  his 
country  to  carry  a  musket  in  her  defense,  he  is  equally 
bound  to  render  her  any  better  service  of  which  he 
is  capable.  A  man  who  can  mould  cannon,  or  build 
ships,  or.  command  armies,  would  be  doing  the  country 
poor  service  at  this  time  should  he  take  his  place  in 
the  ranks.  Besides,  this  is  going  to  be  no  holiday  war. 
Men  talk  about  finishing  it  before  breakfast,  and  troops 
are  called  out  for  ninety  days,  and  Mr.  Seward  even 
prophesies  that  this  rebellion  will  be  crushed  in  less 
than  that  time.  You  will  be  an  old  campaigner  before 
the  end  comes,  if  you  live  to  see  it.  And  one  of  t'he 
things  that  will  chiefly  serve  to  prolong  the  war  is, 
that  our  forces  will  be  officered  at  the  outset  by  incom- 
petent men.  Not  that  we  shall  not  have  good  general 
officers  in  command,  but  the  subordinates  will  be  in- 
efficient. The  men  who  command  regiments  and  com- 
panies will  not  be  those  in  whom,  the  rank  and  file  will 
have  confidence — not  men  who  are  capable  of  leader- 
ship. The  consequence  will  be  that  the  first  battles 
v>'ill  go  against  us.  Of  course,  all  this  is  rank  heresy 
now,  but  mark  my  words,  young  man.  we  shall  see  de- 
feat often  enough  before  we  know  victory." 

"  You  do  not  think  the  rebellion  will  be  successful?" 
asked  Markham. 


2i8  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

''  On  the  contrary,  I  am  sure  it  will  not,"  was  the 
reply,  "but  I  have  always  been  a  sharp  observer  of  men, 
and  if  I  have  achieved  any  advantage  in  the  struggle 
of  life  it  is  due  to  the  fact  that  I  have  judged  men 
more  correctly  than  others  have  done." 

"But  will  not  the  same  deficiency  exist  among  the 
rebels,  and  so  in  a  great  measure  neutralize  the  result 
you  anticipate?"  asked  Markham. 

"No,"  answered  Woodley.  "Their  subordinate  offi- 
cers will  be  exceptionally  good.  They  will  be  from 
the  slave-holding  aristocracy,  vrhich  has  always  ruled 
that  section,  accustomed  to  command  from  infancy, 
and,  from  their  position  in  society,  calculated  to  act 
as  leaders  of  those  lower  classes  who  will  constitute 
their  soldiery.  Every  captain  and  lieutenant,  ev^n,  will 
be  a  man  of  some  mark  in  his  own  neighborhood, 
every  colonel  a  notable  in  his  county,  and  the  v.'hole 
corps  of  officers  will  be  from  a  class  which  the  soldiers 
have  always  been  accustomed  to  follow  and,  in  a  sense, 
obey.  Our  army  will  be  full  of  men,  like  you,  who 
have  let  their  patriotism  run  away  wdth  their  discretion, 
but  who  are,  in  fact,  far  better  fitted  to  command  than 
their  immediate  superiors.  Such  men  will  never  be- 
come insubordinate ;  but  no  army  cai)  ever  count  for 
its  full  worth  until  every  soldier  has  confidence  in  the 
skill,  courage,  and  capacity  of  all  of  his  superiors.  If 
a  regiment  becomes  satisfied  that  its  line  or  field  offi- 
cers are  either  cowards  or  fools,  they  will  not  fight 
under  them.  And  this  will  soon  be  the  condition  of 
most  of  ours.  We  must  be  content  to^wait  for  vic- 
tories until  war  has  weeded  out  our  officers." 


APPROVED  AND    CONFIRMED.  ^^^ 

"You  have  a  poor  opinion  of  our  prospects  and 
our  armies,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Markham  seriously, 
"but  you  would  not  advise  me  not  to  go?" 

"  No.  I  commend  you  for  it ;  and  I  am  glad  you 
went  without  waiting  to  consider  your  own  advantage. 
At  the  same  time  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  know  your 
intention.     I  am  going  myself,"  said  the  elder. 

"What!  you  going  into  the  army.?"  asked  Mark- 
ham,  in  surprise. 

"Yes." 

"In  what  capacity.?" 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Woodley.  "So  you  are  going 
to  put  me  through  my  own  catechism.  Frankly,  then, 
I  do  not  know.  I  offered  my  services  three  days  ago, 
and  this  telegram  informs  me  that  they  are  accepted, 
and  that  I  am  assigned  to  staff-duty,  with  the  rank  of 
Colonel." 

If  a  bombshell  had  exploded  at  the  feet  of  the  young 
man,  he  could  hardly  have  been  more  amazed  than  he 
was  by  this  announcement.  The  last  man  whom  he 
would  have  expected  to  engage  in  the  struggle  Avas 
Boaz  Woodley ;  yet  here  he  was,  with  the  words  of 
foreboding  on  his  lips  which  would  have  subjected  him 
to  the  jeers  and  ridicule  of  nearly  every  man  in  the 
country,  among  the  first  to  step  forv/ard  and  endeavor 
to  avert  disaster.  This  portly,  hard-faced,  well-fed 
lawyer  looked  as  little  like  the  material  required  in 
war  as  any  he  had  just  described;  yet  his  whole  indi- 
viduality was  written  over  with  lines  of  power.  Wher- 
ever he  might  be,  he  would  render  effective  service  of 
some  sort.     There  was  no  doubt  of  that.     Yet  it  was 


220  ^-^GS  '^^^-D    THISTLES. 

Strange  that  he  should  have  taken  this  course.  A 
hard,  selfish  man,  and  a  millionnaire !  What  could  be 
his  motive  ?  Markham  gazed  at  him,  in  a  vain  attempt 
to  solve  the  question.  The  elder  man  at  length  raised 
his  eyes  from  the  floor,  where  they  had  rested  musingly, 
and  read  the  question  in  the  mind  of  his  companion 
at  a  glance. 

"  I  have  more  at  stake  than  you,"  he  said.  "  Besides, 
you  know,"  he  added,  softly,  "  I  have  neither  kith  nor 
kin,  chick  nor  child,  now."  This  was  the  only  ref- 
erence he  had  ever  made  to  the  death  of  his  wife,  or 
any  domestic  relation,  in  Markham 's  presence.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence,  for  the  young  man  felt  embar- 
rassed, almost  awed,  by  what  he  had  heard.  Before 
he  could  think  of  anything  to  say,  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door,  and  a  servant  of  the  hotel  entered. 

"  An  expressman,  with  a  parcel  for  you,  Mr.  Churr," 
he  announced. 

"  Have  it  taken  to  my  room,"  said  Markham,  as  he 
rose  to  go  thither  himself. 

"  As  I  shall  leave  on  the  two  o'clock  train,  I  v/ill 
bid  you  good-bye.  Colonel  Woodley,"  he  said. 

Woodley  smiled  at  the  ease  with  which  Markham 
adapted  himself  to  the  new  fact  in  his  life,  and  held 
out  his  hand,  as  he  said,   heartily  : 

"  Good-bye,  and  good  luck  to  you.  I  know  you  will 
do  your  duty;  but  let  me  give  you  one  word  of  advice. 
Make  war  your  business^  until — until — it  is  over.  Per- 
fect yourself  in  every  department  of  your  army  duty 
by  study  and  observation,  and  look  to  no  future  beyond 
the  camp.     I  much  doubt  whether  you  have  not  done 


APPROVED   AND    CONFIRMED.  221 

your  last  act  in  civil  life.     Good-bye.     If  I  can  serve 
you  at  any  time,  command  me." 


CHAPTER    XXIX, 

SPADES    ARE    TRUMPS. 

A  S  Markham  Churr  left  the  room  of  Boaz  Woodley, 
-/^  Thomas  Horton  entered  it.  There  was  a  look 
upon  his  face  as  if  some  new  trouble  had  occurred. 
He  came  close  to  Woodley  and  said,  in  a  hurried  man- 
ner: 

"I  feel  it  my  duty,  sir,  to  let  you  know  of  a  very 
strange  occurrence.  When  I  came  out  from  my  house 
this  morning  I  found  a  new  spade  in  my  garden,  and 
a  hole  dug  to  the  depth  of  some  four  feet — and  I  did  not 
know  but  it  might  have  some  connection  with — with — 
the  unpleasant  occurrence  of  last  summer."  The  little 
man  mopped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief  as  he 
looked  at  the  great  man  who  sat  calmly  before  him. 

"It  was  quite  unnecessary,  Horton,  I  knew  all  about 
it,"  said  Woodley. 

"All  about  the  hole  in  my  garden.?"  queried  Horton, 
in  surprise. 

"Yes,"  said  Woodley.  "In  fact,  I  helped  dig  it," 
and  he  looked  keenly  at  the  cashier.  Since  the  fail- 
ure of  last  night,  he  had  become  suspicious,  even  of 
Thomas  Horton.  .He  thought  that  he  might  not  be 
entirely   ignorant   of  his   son's   acts,  and  that  the  con- 


222  f^GS  AND    THISTLES, 

fesssion  of  the  latter  might  be  intended  more  to  divert 
suspicion  from  the  father  than  for  an}^  other  purpose. 
If  he  expected  V^x.  H&rton  to  manifest  any  signs  of 
guilty  apprehension  at  this  information,  he  was  disap- 
pointed. The  dapper  little  cashier  seemed  all  at  once 
to  have  received  a  new  acccession  of  meanly  dignity. 
He  sat  with  a  hand  on  each  knee,  leaning  forward,  and 
gazing  intently  into  the  face  of  his  chief.  At  length 
he  said,  in  a  quiet,  even  tone : 

*'What  did  you  expect  to  find  there?" 

"  The  cash-box  which  I  deposited  in  Aychitula 
Bank  the  day  but  one  before  it  was  robbed,"  said 
Woodley,  glancing  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows  for  any 
signs  of  guilt  which  might  flit  across  the  face  of  his 
companion.  Horton's  face  settled  into  a  cold,  stony 
expression,  as  he  said,  with  an  undisguised  sneer : 

"I  hope  you  found  it." 

"1  am  sorry  to  say  I  did  not,"  said  Woodley,  quietly. 

"You  had  belter  search  my  house  next,"  said  Hor- 
ton,  bitterly. 

''It  would  be  quite  useless,"  was  Woodley 's  re- 
ply. 

Thomas  Horcon  sat  a  moment  longer,  looking 
steadily  at  his  imperturbable  companion.  His  face  was 
pale,  but  unmoved.  At  length  he  heaved  a  long  sigh, 
which  was  almost  a  groan,  rose,  and  drawing  a  bunch 
of  keys  from  his  pocket,  laid  them  on  the  table  before 
Woodley,  and,  not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  turned 
towards  the  door.  Before  he  could  reach  it,  however, 
the  burly  form  of  Boaz  Woodley  interposed,  and,  hold- 
ing the  keys  towards  his  faithful  clerk,  he  said : 


SPADES  ARE    TRUMPS.  223 

"Take  them,  Horton."  But  the  cashier  drew  back, 
and  shook  his  head. 

''  If  you  can  suspect  me,  after  twenty  years  of  ser- 
vice, it  is  time  we  parted,  Mr.  Woodley." 

"Sit  down,  Horton,  and  let  me  tell  you  why  we 
went  into  your  garden  to  look  for  that  box,"  said  Wood- 
ley,  commiseratingly.  "  Before  we  begin,  take  some  of 
this  brandy,"  and  he  pushed  towards  him  a  small  tray, 
on  which  stood  a  slender-necked  bottle,  a  little  goblet, 
with  a  silver  sugar-bowl  and  spoon.  Horton  shook  his 
head,  but  Woodley  poured  out  a  glass  and  pushed  it 
toward  him. 

"  Drink  it,  man,"  said  he,  harshly,  "  you  will  need  it 
before  we  are  through,  if  you  do  not  now." 

When  he  had  seated  himself  and  drank  the  thimble- 
ful of  fiery  liquid  which  Woodley  had  pushed  towards 
him,  the  latter  began  his  narrative  with  the  employment 
of  Markham  Churr  to  ferret  out  the  robbery,  ending  with 
a  statement  that  a  letter  had  been  received  from  the 
person  who  committed  the  deed,  which,  he  said,  Horton 
might  read  for  himself,  handing  him,  as  he  spoke,  the 
letter  of  his  son. 

Boaz  W^oodley  watched  him  for  a  moment,  keenly, 
but  the  agony  upon  the  poor  man's  face  soon  became 
too  deep  for  doubt,  and  he  turned  to  the  window  to 
avoid  the  sight. 

Hardly  had  the  cashier  finished  the  perusal  of  this 
letter,  when  Markham  Churr  burst  into  the  room,  in 
evident  excitement,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Mr.  Woodley,  will  you  come  to  my  room  a  mo- 
ment V     Then,  turning  to   the   cashier,  who  sat  gazing 


224  ^-^^^  "^^^^    THISTLES. 

vacantly  at  him,  with  the  fatal  letter  still  in  his  hand, 
he  added : 

"You  must  come,  too,  Mr.  Horton.  You  have  an 
interest  in  this  matter,  also." 

He  turned  and  walked  hurriedly  along  the  corridor 
to  his  own  room.  Boaz  Woodley  followed  deliberately, 
and  wonderingly.  Mr.  Horton  rose  and  put  on  his  hat 
methodically,  but  absently,  and  followed  also,  with  a 
dull,  vacant  look  in  his  eyes,  still  holding  his  son's 
letter. 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  Markham's  room,  Woodley 
stopped  at  the  threshold,  and  gazed  with  wonder  at  the 
scene  within. 

Beside  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  stood 
Markham  Churr,  pointing  to  a  tin-box  which  stood 
open  upon  it,  having  just  been  released  from  numerous 
wrappings  of  coarse  paper,  which  lay  around. 

Boaz  Woodley  recognized  at  once  the  cash-box  he 
had  lost,  and,  starting  forward,  pulled  out  package  after 
package  of  bank-bills,  and  threw  them  on  the  floor  as 
if  they  had  been  rags,  in  evident  search  for  something 
which  he  did  not  find. 

"It  is  gone — gone!"  he  said,  with  a  moan;  then, 
looking  at  Markham  with  glaring  eyes,  he  seemed,  for 
the  first  time,  to  have  become  possessed  with  suspicion 
of  him,  also. 

"It  is  gone!"  he  shouted,  hoarsely,  springing  to- 
wards him.  "It  is  gone,  and  you* have  stolen  it!  I 
see  it  all  now !  You  thought  you  would  get  the  reward, 
and  keep  a  hold  over  me  at  the  same  time.  You  have 
conspired    with    that    damned    rascal,    Frank    Horton. 


SPA  BBS  ARE    TRUMPS.  225 

You  are  a  pretty  pair,  and  have  played  a  very  pretty 
game !  I  see  it  all ;  but  you  have  missed  once  !  Give 
it  to  me  this  instant,  or  you  shall  not  leave  this  room 
alive!" 

He  sprang  upon  Markham,  and  caught  him  by  the 
throat,  as  he  spoke.  The  attack  was  so  sudden  and 
unexpected  that  Markham  had  no  opportunity  to  make 
a  movement  in  his  own  defense  until  the  hand  of 
Woodley  was  on  his  throat.  If  Boaz  Wcodley  expected, 
however,  to  destroy  his  self-possession  and  overpower 
him  by  this  sudden  onset,  he  was  quite  mistaken  in  his 
man.  Although  of  powerful  build,  he  was  no  match  in 
a  personal  encounter  for  the  youngster  he  had  taken 
by  the  throat.  Markham  Churr  was  a  practiced  athlete, 
of  the  utmost  coolness  and  courage,  fruitful  in  expe- 
dient, and  of  unconquerable  resolution.  Though  con- 
siderably lighter  than  his  assailant,  such  was  his  com- 
pactness of  build  that  there  was  less  difference  even  in 
weight  than  the  casual  observer  would  have  supposed ; 
and  his  thorough  training  and  unusual  powers  of  endur- 
ance gave  him  such  advantage  that  he  might  have 
discounted  his  assailant  the  years  by  which  he  was  his 
senior  without  fear  of  the  result.  The  look  of  indignant 
surprise  which  had  come  into  his  face  as  he  heard 
Woodley 's  sudden  accusations  changed  to  one  of  blank 
amazement  as  his  employer  advanced  upon  him.  No 
sooner,  however,  did  he  realize  the  attack,  than  an 
expression  of  dogged  determination  settled  upon  his 
features,  and  the  fingers  of  Woodley  had  hardly  touched 
his  throat,  when  that  worthy  received  a  stunning  bloAv, 
followed  by  a  kick,  which   caused  him   to   release   his 


226  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

hold.  Then  the  two  men  clinched.  They  were  so 
evenly  matched  that  for  a  time  the  result  seemed 
doubtful.  Horton,  having  recovered  from  the  amaze- 
ment caused  by  all  that  had  come  to  his  knowledge 
since  morning,  rubbed  his  bald  head  in  perplexity,  and 
im.portuned  first  one  and  then  the  other  to  desist. 
Neither  heeded  him.  They  clasped  each  other,  with 
straining  muscles,  and  watched  each  other's  movements 
like  two  wild  beasts  struggling  for  their  lives.  The 
floor  sprang  beneath  their  tread,  and  the  whole  house 
trembled  with  their  efforts,  till,  finally,  they  fell  hurtling 
to  the  floor,  panting,  struggling,  Markham  uppermost. 
Blinded  with  rage,  Woodley  still  struggled  to  free  him- 
self.    It  was  in  vain,  yet  he   did  not  cease  his  efforts. 

At  length  Markham  said,  jerking  out  his  words  in 
broken  phrases,  as  the  struggle  would  permit : 

"  Mr.  Woodley — I  have  no  desire — to  do  you — any 
harm — and  cannot   understand  your  attack   upon  me." 

"Hypocrite!"  hissed  Woodley,  between  his  teeth. 

"  You  may  say  what  you  choose ;  I  shall  do  you  no 
personal  injury  except  in  self-defense,"  said  Markham; 
and  he  kept  his  position  with  obstinate  wariness,  which 
left  no  hope  to  the  man  underneath.  Finally,  either 
W^oodley's  rage  exhausted  itself,  or  he  saw  how  ridicu- 
lous and  ineffectual  it  had  been  to  accomplish  liis 
purpose,  and  he  ceased  to  struggle.  Thereupon  Mark- 
ham released  his  hold,  and  both  rose  to  their  feet. 
After  regarding  each  other  a  moment,  Woodley  sat 
down  in  the  nearest  chair,  and  Markham  turned  away 
to  remove  the  traces  of  the  struggle  from  his  person 
and  clothing. 


SPADES  ARE    TRUMPS.  2  27 

Horton,  having  vainly  endeavored  to  prevent  the 
continuance  of  the  fray,  now  that  it  was  ended  looked 
in  embarrassed  silence  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
contestants,  and  then,  from  mere  force  of  habit,  began 
to  inspect  the  box  and  count  the  money  upon  the  table. 
To  hide  his  em.barrassment,  he  began  to  talk  of  the 
subject  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Yes,  sure  enough,  Mr.  Woodley,  this  is  the  same 
box  you  left  with  me.  And  here  are  ten  thousand 
dollars.  That's  what  you  told  me  the  deposit  was 
worth  at  the  time,  I  remember.  And,  among  the  bills, 
one  thousand  in  those  new  twenties  of  the  Xenia  Branch 
Bank;  we'd  only  had  a  few  of  those.  Yes,  here  is  the 
very  card  I  put  on  it  that  day.  It's  stained  and  blurred 
— almost  illegible — but  I  can  read  my  own  writing  yet: 

B.  Woodley,  June .'     The  date  is  gone  entirely,  but 

it  was  the  Friday  before  the  bank  was  opened.  I  declare 
I'm  glad  Frank  didn't  know  all  this  money  was  in  tlie 
box.  I'm  afraid  he  might  have  done  worse  if  he  had. 
It's  been  buried,  as  he  said,  too.  Don't  you  see  the 
clay  on  the  sides  of  it  here  ?  Stiff  and  hard,  just  like 
that  in  my  garden.  Oh,  Frank  told  the  truth,  Mr. 
Woodley;  I  am  sure  he  did.  He's  too  brave  a  boy  to 
lie.     You  see  he  ain't  afraid  even  of  you,  Mr.  Woodley." 

The  old  man  had  been  talking  more  to  himself  than 
to  the  man  he  from  time  to  time  addressed,  his  tears 
falling  almost  as  fast  as  his  words.  Woodky  regarded 
him  stolidly.  Horton  kept  on,  so  full  of  his  trouble 
that  he  had  almost  forgotten  the  presence  of  the  two 
men  in  the  room  with  him.  He  started,  therefore,  in 
some    surprise    when    Woodley    came    forward,   exam- 


2  28  F^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

ined  the  box  carefully,  and  scrutinized  the  direction  to 
Markham  on  the  wrapper.  When  he  had  finished  his 
scrutiny,  he  started  toward  the  door.  Before  he  had 
reached  it,  INIarkham  barred  his  passage. 

'*  Mr.  Woodley,"  he  said,  in  a  firm,  but  respectful 
tone,  ''you  have  accused  me  of  purloining  something 
from  that  box,  and  have  made  an  attack  upon  me  on 
account  of  your  suspicion.  I  acknowledge  that  the 
circumstances  attending  its  possession  at  this  time  are 
very  mysterious,  as  I  cannot  at  all  account  for  it;  and  I 
do  not  wonder  that  you  should  be  surprised — I  am  my- 
self. That,  however,  does  not  justify  your  suspicion, 
and  you  must  be  more  explicit  in  regard  to  your  loss, 
that  I  may  take  steps  to  free  myself  from  your  imputa- 
tion. I  therefore,  demand  that  you  describe,  in  Mr. 
Horton's  presence,  what  you  claim  to  have  lost,  in  such 
a  manner  that  it  may  be  identified." 

"Oh,  it  was  of  no  value,"  said  Woodley,  hastily,  and 
with  some  confusion. 

"  I  ov/e  you  an  apology  for  my  conduct,"  and  he 
half  extended  his  hand.  Markham  waved  it  aside,  and 
locking  the  door,  stood  firmly  before  it  as  he  said  : 

-"No,  Mr.  Woodley,  this  cannot  be  passed  over  thus 
lightly.  If  I  were  inclined  to  do  so,  you  have  taught 
me  that  it  would  be  dangerous.  It  has  already  resulted 
in  an  unseemly  struggle  which  has  given  me  the  right 
to  demand  a  full  statement  of  the  extent  and  character 
of  your  loss.  To  have  forfeited  your  good  opinion, 
even,  is  no  light  matter  to  me ;  but,  beyond  that,  1  have 
the  right,  which  every  brave  and  honorable  man  always 
accords  to  his  enemy,  to  know  why  I  am  struck." 


SPADES  ARE    TRUMPS.  229 

Woodley  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  a  short 
time,  evidently  in  troubled  thought.  His  countenance 
was  pale,  and  the  sweat  stood  upon  his  brow.  His 
limbs  trembled  as  he  sat  down  upon  a  chair,  and  asked 
Horton,  who  was  gazing  at  his  agitation  in  speechless 
wonder,  to  go  to  his  room  and  bring  him  some  brandy. 
Markham  unlocked  the  door,  and  Horton  did  as  re- 
quested. Woodley  poured  himself  out  a  glass  and  drank 
it  at  a  gulp.  After  a  time  he  seemed  to  conquer  his 
agitation,  and  said  : 

"  Thomas  Horton,  I  desire  you  to  witness  what  I 
say.  My  attack  en  Mr.  Churr  was  unjustifiable  and 
foolish.  I  have  no  ground  for  the  imputation  I  made 
against  him.  I  was  maddened  by  the  loss  of  a  parcel, 
which  I  confidently  expected  4;o  find  in  that  box.  A 
paper  which  had  no  appreciable  value,  although  I  held 
it  almost  beyond  price.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  that 
paper  was.  It  is  not  here.  Some  one  else  may  have  it, 
but  every  word  and  act  of  Markham  Churr,  as  well  as 
every  circumstance  of  the  return  of  the  box,  shows  that 
he  has  not.  And  now,  Churr,"  said  he,  turning  towards 
Markham,  "is  that  enough.^     I  can  say  no  more." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should,"  said  Mark- 
ham, offering  his  hand,  heartily,  "  I  am  sorry  for  your 
loss  and  hope  you  may  soon  recover  what  you  prize  so 
highly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Woodley,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in 
his  tone — "so  highly  that  I  could  make  a  fool  of  my- 
sself  over  its  loss." 

"And  now,"  said  Markham,  "  I  wish  you  would  give 
me  a  receipt  for  this  box  and  its  contents.^" 


230  ^J^GS  '"i^'D    THISTLES. 

'"Certainly,"  said  Woodley,  '*and  I  also  owe  you  the 
remainder  of  the  reward  offered  when  you  took  this 
matter  in  hand.  Count  out  a  thousand  dollars,  Horton, 
and  take  Mr.  Churr's  receipt*  for  it." 

Horton  pushed  a  bundle  of  bills  toward  Markham, 
and  began  to  write  a  receipt. 

"Mr.  Woodley,"  said  Markham,  ''I  do  not  think  I 
am  entitled  to  this  money.  I  cannot  see  that  I  have 
contributed  in  any  way  to  the  recovery  of  the  box,  be- 
yond being  the  mere  passive  instrument  of  another's 
will.     It  was  sent  to  me,     I  did  not  find  it." 

"  Don't  stop  to  split  hairs,"  said  Woodley.  "  Take 
the  money,  you  have  earned  it;  and  I  shall  feel  less 
humiliated  by  my  conduct,  if  you  will." 

"  Thank  you,  it  is  ^precisely  because  I  have  not 
earned  it  that  I  cannot  take  it,"  said  Markham. 

"So  you  refuse  it  entirely.''" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  if  you  regret  your  squeamishness  at  any  time, 
draw  on  me.  I  am  your  .banker  for  that  amount,"  said 
Woodley. 


CHAPTER   XXX, 

THE    OLD    STORY. 

MARKHAM  CHURR  returned  to  Fairbank  that 
evening,  wearied,  puzzled,  and  depressed,  and 
gave  Lizzie  Harper  a  full  account  of  all  that  had  oc- 
curred at  Avchitula. 


THE    OLD   STORY.  231 

When  he  concluded,  he  took  the  check  he  had 
received  for  his  services,  and  gave  it  to  her.  It  was 
endorsed:  "Pay  to  the  order  of  Lizzie  Harper.  Mark- 
ham  Chiirr." 

"  My  first  present,  darling,"  lie  said,  as  she  spread 
it  oyt  upon  her  knees  and  looked  at  it  thoughtfully. 

"You  do  not  mean  to  give  me  all  of  this?"  she  said, 
inquiringly. 

"  I  have  already  done  so,"  he  answered. 

"  But  for  yourself }  What  have  you  for  your  own 
wants.?" 

"  A  private  soldier  has  no  wants  beyond  what  his 
pay  will  supply." 

"But  I  cannot  take  it.  I  have  no  use  for  so  much," 
she  protested. 

"Ever  since  I  have  known  you,"  he  replied,  "it  has 
been  my  brightest  anticipation  that  I  might  sometime 
be  the  source  from  which  you  v/ould  receive  the  good 
things  of  this  life.  I  have  no  joy  in  any  possession 
which  is  not  transferable  to  you.  1  Vvdsh  to  acquire, 
only  that  you  may  enjoy.  I  would  give  my  life  for 
*your  pleasure ;  my  heart,  that  it  might  cushion  one 
footstep  in  your  path.  The  essence  of  my  love  is  a 
burning  desire  to  endow  you  with  whatever  of  good  I 
may  be  able  to  gather  in  life.  It  is  more  joy  to  see 
you  holding  that  bit  of  paper  and  know  that  I  gave  it 
to  you  than  any  v/ealth  could  give  if  it  were  mine 
alone," 

The  tears  were  failing  from  her  eyes  upon  the  paper, 
wliich  she  i:)ressed  to  her  bosom,  and  his  arms  were 
around  her  before  his  impetuous  outburst  was  ended. 


232  J^-^GS  A. YD    THISTLES. 

"But  you  might  die,"  she  sobbed  convulsively,  as 
she  lay  upon  his  breast.-  "  Oh,  this  sad  war  !"  and  now 
the  tears  she  shed  were  briny, 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  he  said;  "and  that  is 
another  reason  why  I  desire  you  should  have  this 
money,  and  should  enjoy  and  control,  keep  or  sp^nd, 
use  or  throw  away,  as  you  choose,  just  as  if  it  had 
always  been  your  own,   and  had  never  been  mine." 

"But,"  she  still  urged,  "what  shall  I  do 'with 
it.>" 

"Just  wliat  you  would  if  you  were  my  wife,"  he 
answered,  with  a  kiss. 

"  Oh,  I  could  never  feel  as  free  to  use  it  as  if  that 
were  so,"  she  answered,  olushing. 

"I  had  hoped,"  he  said,  regretfully,  "to  have  ob- 
tained the  other  reward,  also,  which  would  have  justified 
us  in  marrying  immediately ;  but  I  could  not  feel 
satisfied  to  take  ray  place  in  the  army — a  private  sol- 
dier's place,  remember,  with  only  a  private  soldier's 
pay — at  the  beginning  of  a  war  which  may  be  very 
long  and  full  of  casualties,  and  leave  you  my  wife,  with 
only  this  slender  provision  to  face  the  chances  of  early 
widowhood.  Should  I  fall,  I  should  feel  that  I  was 
bequeathing  you  a  life  of  hardship,  rather  than  the  one 
of  comfort  of  which  I  have  always  dreamed.  I  must 
not  take  you  from  your  father's  house  till  I  have  a 
home  for  you." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  the 
fair  girl  clung  closer  to  her  lover,  and  buried  her  face 
from  his  sight  as  she  said,  in  a  low,  weak  whisper,  but 
with  a  touch  of  her  natural  archness  : 


THE    OLD   STORY.  233 

"  Fifteen  hundred  dollars  would  go  a  great  way, 
dear." 

Markham  started,  and  pressed  her  closer  to  his 
heart.  A  new  rapture  drove  away  the  dejection  which 
had  settled  on  his  countenance  as  he  said,  tenderly : 

"•Is  it  so  indeed,  my  darling  ?  Do  you  really  wish 
to  be  my  wife  before  I  go  to  face  danger  ?  Would  you 
rather  I  should  fall  your  husband  than  your  lover?" 

She  raised  her  head,  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  while  hot  blushes  chased  each  other  over  her 
own,  as  she  said  : 

"  It  is  my  dearest  wish,  Markham.  I  cannot  think 
of  your  going  into  danger  without  first  being  mine — 
mine  to  come  to  and  nurse  skwuld  you  be  wounded, 
mine  to  mourn  for  freely  and  wfcput  constraint  should 
you  die,  and  mine  to  welcome  home  should  you  live 
till  victory  comes,  as  I  know  you  will;  mine  to  pray 
for,  wait  for,  and  glory  in — my  very  own — my  husband." 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  the  faces  of  both  as  he 
strained  her  again  to  his  breast,  kissed  her  lips,  and 
said,  with  a  tender,  glad  solemnity : 

"Be  it  so,  my  darling." 

The  tall  old  clock  in  the  hall  ticked  out  its  approval 
through  the  silence  that  followed,  and  told  the  hour  of 
twelve  with  unusual  rattle  and  noise  as  the  lovers  stood 
upon  the  stair  and,  for  the  last  time,  with  clinging 
kisses,  said  "Good-night." 


There  was  an  impromptu  wedding  next  day  at  Fair- 
bank,  a  week  of  quiet  bliss  afterward,  and,  at  its  close, 


234  ^^^-^  ^^^^-D    THISTLES. 

a  tearful  farewell,  as  the  soldier-bridegroom  hurried  to 
the  field  of  strife. 


CHAPTER    XX XL 

THE    ACCOLADE. 

THROUGH  the  long  days  of  early  summer,  the 
life  of  the  nation. centered  in  the  beleaguered  cap- 
ital— not  with  foreboding,  but  anxiously  and  confidently 
expecting  victory,  and  dreading  only  the  strife  that 
must  precede  it.  Daily  the  young  wife  dreamed  of  her 
absent  hero — her  soldier  yet  innocent  of  blood  or  strife. 
Daily  she  read  the  newspaper  which  was  thrown  from 
the  train  at  the  railroad-crossing,  near  by,  and  the  fre- 
quent letters  from  the  camp,  and  lovingly  and  happily 
mused  of  the  time  when  her  soldier  should  return.  Of 
course  there  would  be  a  battle,  perhaps  many,  but  none 
had  occurred  yet,  and,  perhaps  he  might  not  be  engaged 
when  it  did.  And  yet  she  v.ould  not  have  bim  absent. 
She  was  very  anxious  for  the  good  name  and  fame 
of  her  Markham,  and  very  ambitious  for  his  future. 
She  would  not  for  the  world  have  had  him  miss  the 
honor  of  being  one  of  those  who  first  offered  themselves 
to  their  country.  She  would,  not  have  him  miss  the 
first  great  conflict — the  death-struggle,  it  was  hoped — 
with  the  rebellion ;  no,  not  for  his  life.  She  would  far 
rather  be  a  hero's  widow,  she  thought,  than  the  wife  of 
one  who  could  quietly  pursue  the  daily  routine  of  or- 


THE  ACCOLADE.  235 

dinary    life    while    the    grandest    of  history    was    being 
enacted  at  his  door. 

She  felt,  too,  a  wonderful  interest  in  the  nation's 
weal.  Not  an  item  of  the  daily  happenings  escaped 
her  ken.  Her  Markham  was  in  the  struggle,  he  was 
part  of  the  host  whose  every  movement  she  noted. 
She  joined  with  other  women  whose  hearts  were  in  the 
strife,  who  had  sent  forth  their  loved  ones  with  words 
of  cheer,  while  they  hid  hearts  of  foreboding,  and 
prepared  clothing  for  the  soldiers — lint  and  bandages 
for  the  surgeons,  dainties  for  the  sick  and  wounded; 
and  gathered  books  and  newspapers  for  them  all,  the 
heroes  who  were  to  fight  the  country's  battles,  endure 
privations  and  wounds,  and  achieve  final  victory;  each 
one  thinking,  as  she  wrought,  that  her  idol,  her  hero, 
might  be  the  one  to  wear  the  clothing,  need  the  band- 
age, or  taste  the  delicacies  she  prepared. 

It  occurred  to  her  dreaming  mind  that  in  the  long, 
happy,  indefinite  future  which  was  to  come  when  this 
cruel  war  was  over,  and  she  should  sit  by  her  hero's 
side  and  share  his  laurels,  that  it  might  be  a  matter  of 
use  or  pleasure  to  Markham  if  she  should  keep  a  full 
record  of  all  that  took  place  while  he  was  in  the  field. 
So  she  commenced  putting  in  a  scrap-book  everything 
that  came  under  her  notice  respecting  the  war,  while,  in 
her  own  -little  journal,  her  woman's  thoughts  on  the 
passing  events  were  quaintly  mingled  with  the  pretty 
tenderness  of  hopeful  young  love. 

And  so  her  days  slipped  on,  in  a  strange,  mazy  way, 
not  unhappily,  heedful  of  her  new  treasure,  and  hopeful 
for   her  country — let   us   not   say  how  much  the  more 


236  ^JGS  AND    THISTLES. 

because  his  future  and  her  joy  were  bound  up  in  its 
safety.  Still  she  hoped  and  trusted,  bowing  ever  at 
morning  and  evening,  with  that  simple  faith  which  con- 
stituted her  religion,  in  trustful  prayer  for  both. 

The  cherries  and  the  apples  blossomed,  and  poured 
their  fragrance  into  the  marriage-chamber,  v.'here  she 
waited  for  her  lord  ;  and  yet  he  came  not.  The  cherries 
ripened  on  the  old  trees  which  stretched  their  inter- 
lacing arms  across  the  yard.  The  annual  gathering 
came,  and  fair  faces  smiled  among  the  clustering  leaves, 
white  hands  plucked  the  Dukes  and  Ox-Hearts;  there 
was  laughter  and  merry  jesting,  and  Love  found  still 
happy  pairs  under  the  leafy  arbors  in  the  garden. 

The  "ninety  days"  of  prophecy  had  expired,  and 
yet  the  war  was  not  over — nay,  had  scarcely  commenced. 
Instead  of  boldly  attacking  the  embattled  enemy,  the 
nation  hesitatingly  waited  to  be  itself  attacked.  The 
time  began  to  grow  heavy.  It  seemed  as  if  the  end 
would  never  be — nor  even  the  beginning.  Suspense 
grew  into  v/eariness. 

All  at  once  the  air  v/as  full  of  shadow.  It  seemed  as 
if  an  unseen  messenger  had  brought  to  every  heart  a 
premonition  of  great  events  impending.  The  hot  July 
sun  looked  down  upon  a  doubly  expectant  nation. 
There  v\as  little  known  to  excite  apprehension.  Only 
this  was  told  :  The  army  about  Vv^ashington  had  started 
towards  Richmond.  It  had  been  heralded  as  a  mere 
holiday  trip,  but  loving  hearts  were  truer  prophets  than 
the  braggarts  of  the  pen. 

One  more  day  passed,  and  Lizzie's  watching  eyes 
were  startled  by  every  form  that  passed  along  the  dusty 


THE   ACCOLADE.  237 

road.  Her  fair  cheeks  flushed  and  paled,  and  her  quick 
hand  pressed  her  heaving  bosom,  at  every  sudden  foot- 
step. The  setting  sun  brought  a  letter — a  little  one — 
from  the  absent  loved  one,  dated  at  Washington : 

"My  Darling  Wife:  I  write  upon  my  knapsack, 
as  we  wait  for  orders  to  move  out  from  the  camp  we 
have  occupied  so  long.  The  mails  are  stopped,  but  a 
friend  has  promised  to  drop  this  in  the  office  at  Balti- 
more as  he  passes  through.  We  go  out  to  battle.  You, 
no  doubt,  know  where  and  how  as  well  as  I.  I  only 
know  that  we  go  to  fight.  I  am  very  despondent.  They 
talk  of  victory.  I  look  only  for  defeat.  Whatever 
comes,  you  may  know  that  I  shall  do  my  duty;  if  for 
no  other  reason,  because  I  know  you  could  not  love  me 
should  I  fail  to  do  so. 

"God  bless  you,  my  darling.  In  life  or  in  death,  in 
victory  or  in  defeat,  I  shall  think  of  you  ever  and  last. 
Your  husband,  Markham." 

How  many  times  she  read  it,  why  think  of  noting  ? 
Until  every  letter  was  graven  into  her  memory  as  with 
a  burning  stylus ;  until  its  characters  swam  before  her 
eyes  when  she  read  her  Bible  that  night,  and  danced 
through  her  brain  like  quivering  flame  as  she  knelt  in 
prayer,  until  her  petition  became  only  a  blind  and  wail- 
ing cry  for  help  and  hope. 

The  next  day  there  was  silence ;  and  the  next — the 
holy  Sabbath — was  burdened  with  woe  and  horror. 

First  came  the  brief  message  :  "Fighting;"  then  the 
exultant  cry:  "The  enemy  falling  back."     Then  silence 


238  FIG^  '-i^D    THISTLES. 

fell  upon  the  throbbing  wires.  Tlie  electric  pulse  which 
was  wont  to  thrill  along  their  fibers  seemed  to  have 
been  hushed,  palsied,  with  the  woe  it  was  called  upon 
to  bear.  At  length  it  came,  dragging  feebly  and  slowly, 
while  the  operators  spelled  it  out  dully  and  wonder- 
ingly  to  hushed  and  stricken  thousands  :  "  Our  ar?ny 
in  full  retreat  on  Washington  I'' 

The  young  wife  was  standing  in  the  moonlight — the 
full,  bright,  summer  moonlight,  under  the  cherry-trees, 
by  the  gate  over  which  she  had  leaned,  in  another  July 
moonlight,  when  she  first  heard  the  tremor  of  love  in 
Markham's  voice — vvdien  this  last  message  was  told  her 
by  a  group  of  men  who  were  passing,  and  of  whom  she 
had  asked  tidings.  They  told  it  to  her  in  strangely 
tender  tones  for  them  to  use,  for  the  unspeakable 
anguish  of  a  loving  woman's  despair  spoke  to  them  cut 
of  the  staring  eyes  and  blanched  cheeks  turned  toward' 
them  in  the  moonlight.  She  did  not  weep,  nor  cry  out, 
nor  faint,  as  these  tidings  of  a  general  grief  struck  her 
with  the  horror  of  a  personal  woe.  She  only  moaned, 
and  shook  as  w4th  an  ague,  while  they  led  her  to  the 
house. 

Tenderly  those  vv^ithin  received  her,  and  put  her, 
shivering  and  moaning  still,  into  her  lone  bridal-bed. 
To  their  comforting  words  she  made  no  reply.  Her 
agony  vvas  too  sharp  to  be  put  in  words,  but  the  instinct 
of  prayer  did  not  forsake  her,  and  her  spirit  went  up 
to  the  throne  of  the  Merciful,  who  "  giveth  his  beloved 
sleep." 

Two  more  days,  and  then  came  reports  of  those  who 
were  wounded  and   dead.     They   thought  to  keep  the 


THE  ACCOLADE.  239 

newspapers  away  from  her,  but  she  would  see  them. 
She  found  it  there,  his  name,  among  the  list  of  killed. 
What  great  black  letters  the  small  type  in  which  the 
names  were  printed  seemed  to  her !  She  had  not  ex- 
pected otherwise — so  she  said  to  herself — since  she  had 
heard  of  the  rout  of  our  army.  Yet  it  seemed  so  hor- 
rible to  see  that  name  printed  there  for  the  great  gaping 
world  to  read.  It  blinded  her  eyes  and  crushed  her 
heart,  and  when  they  took  the  paper  away,  in  very  pity 
for  her  agony,  she  still  saw  those  horrid  letters  on  the 
tinted  wall-paper,  on  the  snowy  coverlid,  aye,  even  on 
tlie  patch  of  azure  sky  through  the  windows,  above  the 
tops  of  the  cherry-trees.     Everywhere  was  printed: 

"KILLED  —  Markham  Churr,  Sergt.  Co.  E, 
«th  N.  Y.  Vols." 

She  lay  in  a  dull  stupor,  day  after  day,  reading  ever 
these  fatal  inscriptions,  which  were  stamped  on  every- 
thing about  her.  Somehow,  she  had  lost  all  interest  in 
the  nation,  and  the  struggle  which  was  going  on  for  its 
life,  now  that  her  own  dearer  life  had  been  rendered  up 
in  its  defense.  Soon  there  came  letters  from  the  com- 
rades of  her  fallen  love,  telling  how  he  had  fought,  and 
when  and  where  he  had  been  stricken.  They  all  spoke 
kindly,  regretfully,  of  him.  She  was  grateful  to  them, 
and  treasured  the  bits  of  eulogy  upon  her  dead  with 
tender  care.  They  tried  to  rouse  her  from  the  stupor 
into  which  she  had  fallen,  but  they  could  not. 

And  so  the  days  grew  into  a  week,  and  then  into 
another,  of  her  widowhood — when  suddenly  theveil  was 
lifted.  She  awoke  one  morning  to  see  that  the  world 
was    bright,   despite   her   sorrow.      She    caught   herself 


240  ^J'GS  JND    THISTLES. 

humming  a  tune  before  she  was  dressed.  She  was 
shocked  that  she  could  be  anything  but  miserable,  yet 
she  could  not  be  sad.  The  family  noticed  her  changed 
demeanor,  and  at  first  rejoiced  in  it,  for  they  had  feared 
she  might  never  recover  from  the  shock;  but  through 
the  day  there  was  a  suppressed  gladness  in  her  voice 
and  manner  which  alarmed  them  only  less  than  her 
previous  lethargic  grief. 

The  following  morning  she  still  more  surprised  those 
who  had  watched  her  in  her  trial  with  such  anxiety, 
by  declaring  her  belief  that  her  husband  was  yet 
alive. 

"I  saw  him  last  night,"  she  said;  "he  was  in  a 
crowded  city,  lying  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  a  great  house. 
There  were  watchers  by  the  bed,  and  he  was  pale  and 
weak,  but  was  alive,  and  spoke  my  name." 

"But  you  must  remember,"  they  said  to  her,  "that 
several  of  his  comrades  say  they  saw^  him  when — when 
he  was  killed,  and  you  must  not  flatter  your  heart,  dear 
child,  that  they  were  all  mistaken,  and  that  he  would 
remain  unheard  of  for  so  long  a  time." 

"But  they  were  mistaken,"  she  still  insisted.  "They 
mistook  a  serious  for  a  fatal  wound.  Oh !  he  has  been 
very  low.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  pale  and  thin  he  was; 
but  he  is  alive,  and  will  come  back  to  me." 

She  was  so  happy  in  her  delusion,  that  they  would 
not  dispel  it,  and  left  her  to  its  enjoyment,  now  fully 
convinced  that  her  mind  had  been  impaired  by  the 
sudden  bereavement. 

And  so  the  days  went  on,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
friends,  in  spite  of  reason   and  of  herself,  even,  Lizzie 


THE   ACCOLADE.  241 

Chiirr  was  happy.  Her  belief  in  her  husband's  escape 
seemed  so  unreasonable  that  it  had  settled  into  one  of 
those  notions  which  the  keenest  sufferers  sometimes 
get,  and  cling  to  with  the  most  unwavering  confidence, 
yet  which  do  not  actually  expect  fulfillment — a  fancy 
which  the  heart  receives,  although  the  brain  denies  its 
verity.  So,  while  she  thought  and  spoke  of  him  as 
alive,  somehow  she  did  not  fill  the  future  with  his  words 
and  acts  as  she  had  done  before  the  battle-scath  had 
marred  her  marriage-dreams. 

One  day  there  was  a  visitor  announced  who  asked 
for  her.  She  went  down  to  the  parlor,  wondering  who 
could  have  called,  since  he  had  given  no  name,  but  had 
merely  said  to  her  sister  :  "  I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Churr 
privately  for  a  few  minutes." 

In  the   hall  she   saw  a  military   cap,  and  her  heart 
beat  faster  and  her  limbs  grgw  weak  as  she  thought  of 
Markham,  and  realized   her  widov/hood.     She  entered 
the  parlor,  and  a  tall,  strongly-framed  man,  clothed  in 
a  half-military  suit,  begrimed  w^ith   dust,  came  forward, 
and,   gazing    searchingly   and   anxiously   into    her   eyes, 
bowed  slightly  and  inquiringly,  as  he  said  : 
''  Mrs.  Churr,  I  presume  V 
She  bowed  assent,  and  he  continued  : 
"  You    must    allow    me    to    introduce    myself.      My 
name  is  Boaz  Woodley." 

Lizzie  extended  her  hand  with  evident  pleasure.  It 
was  a  tribute  to  her  Markham  that  this  strong,  busy 
man  should  feel  it  a  duty  to  come  and  proffer  condo- 
lence to  his  widow.  She  was  very  jealous  of  her  dead 
husband's  honor. 


242 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


"I  see,"  he  said,  smiling,  "that  you  have  heard  the 
name  before.  Well,  then,  there  is  no  further  need  of 
parley.  I  am,  as  you  may  be  aware,  on  the  staff  of 
the  Governor  of  the  State,  and  engaged  in  organizing 
troops  at  this  time.  Knov/ing  the  qualities  of  your 
husband  as  well  as  I  do,  and  learning  of  the  very  con- 
spicuous gallantry  which  he  displayed  in  the  late  battle, 
I  have  recommended  the  Governor  to  offer  him  a  com- 
mission in  one  of  our  regiments.  He  has,  therefore, 
appointed  him  a  captain  in  the  ;/th  Ohio  Infantry. 
Knowing  he  would  appreciate  the  honor  more  highly 
if  it  came  through  you,  I  have  brought  you  the  com- 
mission, which  I  now  deliver." 

He  concluded  with  a  low  bow  to  the  pallid,  trem- 
bling creature,  who  sat,  she  knew  not  how,  listening  to 
this  harangue,  which  she  was  powerless  to  interrupt, 
and  handed  her  the  bit  of  parchment  which  he  held  in 
his  hand.  Could  not  the  great  brute  see  how  she  was 
suffering.?  He  was  watching  her  closely  enough,  and 
did  not  seem  anxious  to  wound  her  feelings.  At  length 
she  found  breath  to  stammer  forth: 

"But  he— is — is,  that  is—" 

"  Ah  !  yes — I  know.  He  was  reported  dead,  but  we 
do  not  believe  it.  I  do  not — not  a  word  of  it,  Madam," 
said  Woodley. 

''But  have  you  heard?" she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  not  waiting  for  her  to  complete  her  ques- 
tion, "of  course  we  have  not  heard  from  him.  But 
there  are  so  many  mistakes  made  in  Washington  now, 
that  there  is  no  reliance  to  be  put  in  these  reports — not 
a  word.     Why,  he  may  be  in  one  of  the  hospitals,  or  in 


THE  ACCOLADE.  243 

some  private  house,  and  his  name  not  properly  reported, 
and  his  comrades  think  he  must  be  dead  because  they 
do  not  know  where  he  is.  He  may  be  sick  and  de- 
lirious. There  are  a  thousand  chances,  and  all  in  his 
favor." 

"  Do  you  think  so,"  she  gasped,  eagerly. 

"Think.?  Why,  I  k?iow,''  returned  Woodley,  confi- 
dently. "We  thought  you  might  have  heard  from  him. 
But  no  matter;  you  will  presently.  I  am  sure  of 'that. 
And  you  can  keep  that  bit  of  paper  till  he  gets  back. 
He  may  need  something  to  freshen  him  up  a  bit." 

"I  hope" — said  Lizzie,  tremblingly, 

"  Oh,  don't  hope,''  interrupted  Woodley,  cheerfully, 
"don't  hope.  Just  be  sure.  You  have  never  thought 
him  dead." 

"  I — I — have  tried  not  to,"  said  the  poor  young  wife, 
and,  for  the  first  time  since  the  terrible  news  had  come 
to  her,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"There!  there!"  said  Woodley,  tenderly,  as  she 
caught  one  of  his  hands  and  sobbed  and  wept  upon  it, 
while  he  stroked  her  brown  hair  with  the  other.  Don't 
be  disturbed.  Take  my  word  for  it,  you  will  have 
Markham  home  here  before  you  know  it,  and  make  him 
as  good  as  new  again,  if  he  has  been  hurt." 

After  some  further  rude  attempts  at  consolation,  he 
said,  rather  abruptly,  being  unused  to  melting  moods 
and  perplexed  as  to  what  to  do  next : 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Madam,  I  am  in  haste. 
When  Markham  comes,  give  him  this  paper,  and,  believe 
me,  it  will  help  him  to  get  up  again."  He  took  his 
leave,  and  Lizzie  looked  after  him,  as  he  went  down  the 


244  ^^^^  ^^'^    THISTLES. 

walk  under  the  cherry-trees  towards  the  gate,  with 
something  like  remorse  in  her  tearful  eye. 

The  next  day  there  came  a  letter  from  a  gentleman 
residing  in  Washington,  saying  that  Markham  Churr 
had  been  lying  wounded  at  his  house  since  the  day 
after  the  great  battle;  had  been  insensible  much  of  the 
time,  and,  after  that,  too  weak  to  dictate  a  letter.  The 
writer  stated  that  he  was  a  stranger  to  his  sick  guest, 
having  taken  him  from  an  ambulance  to  his  house 
simply  because  he  wore  the  badge  of  a  college  society 
to  which  the  writer  had  belonged.  He  had  not  known 
his  rank  or  residence  until  that  day,  and  was  greatly 
shocked,  upon  going  to  the  camp  of  his  regiment,  which 
was  but  a  few  squares  distant,  to  learn  that  he  had  been 
reported  dead.  He  feared  mucK  suffering  had  been 
caused  by  this  report,  and  hastened  to  correct  it. 
Sergeant  Churr  had  been  severely  wounded,  but  was 
now  greatly  improved,  a.nd  would  probably  be  able  to 
start  for  home  in  a  few  days. 

Strangely  enough,  this  letter,  while  dated  "  Washing- 
ton," was  post-marked  ^^  Aychitula!'' 


CHAPTER    XXXI L 

**  A  N  D    IT     WAS     L  I  G  H  T  !" 

HARDLY  had  Lizzie  recovered  from  the  glad  amaze- 
ment which  this  letter  brought,  when  there  came 
a  new  surprise.     She  was  sitting  by  the  window,  sewing 


''AND  IT    WAS  LIGHT!''  245 

on  some  dainty  trifle,  and  wondering  dreamily  how  her 
hero  was  faring,  when  she  saw  a  little  cavalcade  coming 
down  the  road,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  village.  First  came  a  carriage  belonging  to  one 
of  the  hotels.  She  knew  that  by  the  color  of  the  horses, 
even  at  that  distance.  Behind  it  was  Dr.  Merrill's 
buggy  and  two  or  three  other  vehicles,  all  filled  with 
men  who  seemed  very  much  excited,  swinging  their 
arms  and  sometimes  their  hats,  driving  very  fast,  yet 
stopping  often  and  apparently  in  no  great  haste  to 
reach  their  destination.  At  every  house  they  seemed 
to  make  some  announcement  which  drew  all  its  inmates 
to  the  roadside,     Lizzie  called  her  sister. 

"What  can  it  be.?"  said  Jenny,  as  she  leaned  over 
her  sister's  chair  and  joined  in  her  wonder.  "  See, 
there  is  father,"  and  she  pointed  to  Jediithon  Harper, 
who,  .mounted  on  his  staid,  gray  mare,  and  wearing  his 
high  hat,  had  started  to  the  village  for  the  evening's 
mail,  and  was  just  now  turning  the  corner  which  the 
cavalcade  was  approaching.  He  halted  as  he  came 
near,  and  an  excited  individual,  who  rode  with  the 
Doctor,  sprang  out  and  went  forward,  hat  in  hand,  to 
meet  the  grave,  gray-bearded  man,  who  dismounted  and 
went  towards  the  carriage,  at  first  slowly,  then  ex- 
citedly. 

"Why,  it  must  be  somebody  father  knows,"  said 
Jenny,  "and  do  look  there,"  she  continued,  in  surprise. 

It  was  no  wonder  she  was  amazed.  Jeduthon  Har- 
per, after  clambering  into  the  carriage,  had  suddenly 
turned,  leaped  down,  ran  to  his  venerable  horse,  sprung 
into  the  saddle,  turned  her  head  towards  home,  losing 


246 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


his  high  hat  in  the  movement,  and,  by  fierce  application 
of  the  whip,  had  roused  the  wondering  beast  into  some- 
thing Uke  a  trot.  As  he  turned  the  corner  homeward, 
this  evidently  became  too  slow  a  method  of  locomotion 
for  his  excited  feeling,  and,  leaping  down,  he  ran  beside 
the  old  mare,  still  holding  the  bridle  and  lashing  her  at 
every  step. 

"  He  must  be  craz)^,"  said  Jenny,  and  both  sisters 
laughed,  till  they  almost  cried,  at  their  father's  queer 
antics. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  strange  spectacle  which  came 
along  the  road  towards  the  two  laughing  watchers. 
Just  in  front,  ran  the  gray-haired  old  man,  urging  his 
horse  forward,  and  running  at  its  side,  bare-headed, 
gesticulating  wildly  and  evidently  shouting  incessantly. 
Next  came  the  carriage,  they  could  not  see  with  how 
many  passengers,  but  evidently  loaded  to  its  full  ca- 
pacity, and,  just  beside  that,  the  Doctor's  buggy,  he 
whipping  sharply  on,  as  if  to  pass  both  the  others,  while 
the  excitable  man  in  the  buggy  with  him  kept  standing 
up  and  then  sitting  down,  as  if  uncertain  in  which  po- 
sition he  preferred  to  ride;  then  two  or  three  vehicles, 
crowded  with  people,  all  excited  and  gesticulating;  and 
alongside  of  these  a  hurrying  crowd  of  pedestrians,  all 
waving  their  hats  and  evidently  shouting. 

As  they  reached  the  top  of  the  little  hill,  just  be- 
yond the  ravine  which  ran  across  the  road  east  of 
Fairbank,  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  lived  there,  came  out 
to  his  gate.  The  man  in  the  buggy  shouted  something 
and  gesticulated  towards  the  carriage.  Mr.  Hamilton 
waved   his  hat  in  response,  sprang  over  the  fence  and 


'-AND   IT    WAS  LIGHT!''  247 

ran  towards  the  carriage.  As  he  did  so,  there  was  a 
gleam  of  bkie  from  the  other  side  of  the  coach. 

"  Markham !  Markham!"  exclaimed  Lizzie,  as  she 
sprang  up,  dropping  the  snowy  linen  on  which  she  had 
been  engaged,  and  thrusting  aside  her  wondering  sister. 
She  flew  out  of  the  door,  down  the  path,  and  along  the 
dusty  road,  in  the  hot  August  sunshine,  to  the  brow 
of  the  little  hill  up  which  the  carriage,  with  its  motley 
convoy,  was  toiling  through  the  burning  sand.  Her 
father  did  not  seem  to  see  her,  as  she  stood  on  the 
green  bank,  just  above  the  road,  nor  did  she  heed  him. 
Her  heart  had  told  her  what  the  carriage  contained,  and, 
with  heaving  breast,  she  but  waited  for  her  eyes  to 
confirm  its  fond  augury.  The  excitable  man  who  rode 
w^ith  the  Doctor  was  the  first  to  spy  her. 

"Captain  Churr  !"  he  cried,  waving  his  hat  towards 
the  panting  figure  by  the  roadside.  "Three  cheers  for 
Captain  Churr!" 

His  face  was  red,  and  he  was  hoarse  from  shouting 
already,  but  he  led  the  cheer.  The  kind,  stubbly-faced 
Doctor  shouted,  while  the  wrinkles  chased  each  other 
over  his  visage,  his  gray  eyes  sparkling  with  joy,  as 
he  alternately  shook  his  whip  at  Lizzie  and  lashed 
his  filly,  which  was  rearing  and  plunging  at  his  un- 
wonted vigor.  The  carriage-driver  shook  his  whip  and 
hurrahed.  The  men  in  the  carriage  waved  their  hats 
and  shouted,  and  the  neighbors  who  ran  behind  strained 
their  throats  to  add  to  the  din.  All  seemed  possessed 
with  delirium. 

Lizzie  saw  none  of  this.  A  pale  face,  surmounted 
with  a  blue  cap,  had   caught  her  eye.     She  knew  not 


248  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

how,  but  in  an  instant  she  had  clambered  over  the 
wheel,  wrenched  open  the  carriage-door— or  some 
friendly  hand  had  done  it  for  her — and  she  was  borne 
on  to  the  house  kneeling  on  the  carriage-floor,  clasping 
her  Markham  to  her  breast,  while  the  gentleman  who 
sat  in  front  had  put  one  arm  around  her  waist  to 
prevent  her  falling  backward,  and  with  the  other  held 
his  hat  before  his  face  to  hide  his  tears.  Outside,  all 
was  clamor  and  joy — within  there  was  the  hush  of  ten- 
derer emotion.  Eyes  unused  to  such  display  were  full 
of  tears,  sweet  with  the  holiest  savor — the  joy  of  wit- 
nessing another's  supremest  happiness. 

As  they  drove  up  to  the  house,  the  whole  family 
cam.e  out,  but  half  comprehending  the  scene,  hardly 
knowing  whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  and  doing  both  at 
irregular  intervals.  The  neighbors  crowded  about  the 
carriage,  talking  boisterously  and  irrelevantly,  as  is 
usual  on  exciting  occasions,  each  anxious  to  do  some- 
thing if  he  only  knew  how  to  begin.  One  by  one  the 
gentlemxcn  stepped  from  the  carriage,  leaving  Lizzie 
alone,  clasping  to  her  bosom  her  dead  that  was  alive 
again,  gazing  down  at  him  with  a  face  which  shone  as 
with  the  glory  of  a  brighter  world. 

The  effusive  individual  who  rode  with  the  doctor 
jumped  down  and  shook  hands  with  Jeduthon  Harper 
— who  was  still  holding  the  bridle  of  his  gray  mare, 
and  walking  back  and  forth  the  distance  it  allowed — 
looked  into  the  carriage,  and  said  something  to  the 
occupants,  who  were  deaf  and  blind  to  all  the  world 
except  each  other,  then  began  shaking  hands  with  all 
the, neighbors,  called  for  three  more  cheers,  and,  finally, 


''AXD   ir    WAS  LIGHT!"  249 

Stepping  upon  the  porch,  was  about  to  begin  a  speech. 
He  was  a  lawyer,  and  naturally  thought  a  few  remarks 
appropriate  on  every  occasion.  Just  as  he  got  under 
way,  however,  the  Doctor,  who  had  quietly  tied  his 
horse  to  a  tree  in  the  yard,  gone  to  the  carriage 'and 
felt  the  patient's  pulse,  came  upon  the  scene,  and  took 
charge  of  the  further  proceedings. 

''  This  won't  do,"  he  said,  quietly,  and  in  that  sort 
of  business-like,  self-assured  tone  which  all  men  obey 
at  once.  '*  There  has  been  too  much  noise  and  excite- 
ment already.  I  wish,  Squire,  if  it  is  not  too  much 
trouble,  that  you  would  take  my  horse,  and  drive  to  the 
drug-store,  and  get  me  this  prescription." 

The  fussy,  good-hearted  man  was  only  too  glad  to 
do  something,  and  departed  on  his  errand  with  alacrity. 

Our  young  soldier  had  borne  up  wonderfully  until 
he  saw  his  sweet  wife's  face,  and  felt  her  clirrging  arms 
about  his  neck.  Then  his  head  sank  upon  her  bosom, 
and  he  became  insensible.  Under  the  Doctor's  direc- 
tions, he  was  removed  from  the  carriage,  and  placed 
upon  a  bed.  His  wife  sat  beside  him,  and  held  his 
nerveless  hand.  The  neighbors  came  in,  gazed  pity- 
ingly at  his  pale  face  for  a  moment,  and  went  away, 
one  by  one,  bearing  in  their  hearts  the  first  woful  mes- 
sage from  the  field  of  strife. 

The  injuries  of  Markham  Churr  were  of  that  class 
which  touch  the  life  without  greatly  marring  the  frame. 
A  vital  nerve  had  been  compressed,  and  through  half 
its  length  refused  to  perform  its  functions.  The  strong 
limbs  were  lifeless  and  inert.  No  message  from  the 
brain  could  reach  the  relaxed  muscles.     The  well-strung 


25< 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


sinews  yielded  beneath  a  feather's  v/eight.  The  feet 
were  leaden.  Half  the  man  was  dead;  the  other  half 
but  feebly  alive.  The  brain  had  felt  the  shock,  and 
since  that  moment  had  been  dull  and  heavy.  One  only 
thought  had  remained  with  dogged  pertinacity,  growing 
every  day  stronger  and  stronger :  he  must  be  taken 
home  to  die.  He  would  bear  to  his  young  bride  the 
message  of  his  faithfulness — the  story  of  his  first  battle, 
and  his  last.  Then  he  would  die.  Then  he  would  be 
willing  to  die.  He  did  not  want  the  shattered  half-life 
which  alone  remained  to  him.  He  could  not  be  content 
to  sit  in  helpless  weakness  within  hearing  of  the  strife, 
and  not  be  able  to  share  the  turmoil. 

So  he  came  home  to  die ;  to  see  his  fair  young  wife, 
and  receive  her  kiss  of  welcome,  and  soothe  her  sorrow 
as  she  said :  Farewell. 

When, he  had  revived,  the  Doctor  called  Lizzie  aside, 
and  gave  directions  for  his  care^  telling  frankly  his 
hopes  and  fears.  The  young  husband  had  been  his 
friend,  and  was  also  the  first  sufferer  he  had  seen  from 
the  struggle,  for  whose  righteous  outcome  no  one  prayed 
more  sincerely.  The  patient  saw  them,  and  said,  quer- 
ulously: 

''  Don't  bother,  Doctor.  It's  no  use.  Let  me  die 
in  peace." 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  your  dying,  Captain  Churr," 
said  the  Doctor,  blushing  at  his  own  disingenuousness. 

''^Captain  Churr?  Why  do  you  say 'Captain,'  Doc- 
tor?" asked  Lizzie,  without  waiting  for  her  husband  to 
reply. 

"  Why,  hasn't  he  told  you  yet?"  asked  the  Doctor, 


''AND   IT    WAS  LIGHT!''  251 

laughingly.  *'  That's  what  he  came  home  for — just  to 
let  you  know  of  his  promotion.  He  was  so  anxious 
about  it,  that  he  had*  it  telegraphed  ahead  of  the  train, 
so  that  we  might  be  ready  to  receive  him  with  proper 
ceremony," 

"Now,  Doctor,  that  is  too  bad,"  , said  Markham, 
petulantly. 

"It  was  a  mistake,  then?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  a  mistake.  You  know  it  is  not  true, 
and  only  do  it  to  tease  me.  It  is  not  kind  to  do  so, 
when  you  know  my  condition,"  he  replied. 

"But  I  swear,  Markham,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  am 
in  earnest.  The  telegram  I  received  was  to  that  efiect. 
It  was  from  Buffalo,  and  said  that  Captain  Markham 
Churr  would  arrive,  badly  wounded,  on  the  next  train. 
It  was  sent  by  Colonel — somebody,  I  have  forgotten 
who,  but  I  supposed  he  knew.  I  assure  you  I  have 
not  been  joking  at  all." 

"  Nor  is  it  any  joke,"  said  Lizzie,  who  had  left  the 
room,  only  to  return  with  a  parchment  in  her  hand. 
"You  are  a  captain,  and   there  is  your  commission." 

She  laid  it  on  his  breast,  but  the  Doctor  caught  it 
up,  and  glanced  over  it. 

"That  is  so,"  he  said  ;  "and  it  is  for  gallant  conduct, 
too." 

Then  he  read  it  over,  and  there  was  more  cheering 
and  handshaking. 

"It's  of  no  use  now,"  said  Markham,  sadly,  "except 
to  show  that  I  did  my  duty,  as  I  told  you  I  would, 
Lizzie." 

"Oh,  you  darling!"  she  cried,  mischievously;  "you 


252  ^JGS  ^-i^^    THISTLES, 

deserve  one  more  kiss  for  winning  it."  She  gave  him 
half-a-dozen,  and  rattled  on,  cheerily  :  "  Won't  it  be 
nice,  dear,  when   you  get  well  ?     • 

"'And  the  captain  with  his  whiskers  cast  a  sly  look  at  me,'" 
she  sang,  with  a  glance  so  arch  that  he  could  not  help 
laughing,  as  he  exclaimed,  feebly  enough : 

"  I  declare,  Lizzie,  you  would  make  a  dead  man 
laugh." 

"Or  a  sick  man  well.  That's  what  I  am  going  to 
do,  Markham.  Why,  sister  Jennie,  here  Markham  has 
been  home  two  mortal  hours,  and  no  one  has  asked 
him  to  stay  to  supj^er!" 

Amid  the  laughter  which  followed  this  sally,  the 
Doctor  took  his  leave,  and  Lizzie  slipped  out  under 
the  cherry-trees  to  ask  him,  once  more  : 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  get  well,   Doctor .?" 

"I  do  not  despair.  You  must  keep  him  cheerful 
and  lively.  That  is  the  best  medicine  for  him,"  he 
answered. 

"Oh!  if  it  depends  on  me,  he  shall  be  cured,"  she 
said,  and  the  tears  ran  over  her  smiling  face  as  she 
turned  back  to  begin  the  work  of  restoring  her  shattered 
hero — rebuilding  the  walls  of  her  love's  Jerusalem. 


w 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

FROM    THE    GATES    OF    DEATH. 

HEN  the  excitement  of  his  return  had  passed 
V  away,  the  dull,  lethargic  state  in  which  Markham 
had  been  since  the  day  of  battle  returned,  and  he 
seemed  about  to  fulfill  his  own  prediction,  that  he  had 
come  home  to  die.  But  to  die  was  not  so  easy,  with 
so  brave  a  heart  as  Lizzie's  battling  for  the  husband 
who  had  came  back  to  her,  as  it  were,  from  the  grave. 
Bright  and  sparkling  as  a  fairy,  she  hovered  about  his 
couch,  caring  for  the  poor  stricken  body  and  inspiring 
the  dull  and  languid  brain.  And  whenever  she  wearied, 
from  long  watching,  plenty  of  hands  scarcely  less 
tender  waited  to  give  her  respite  from  the  duties  of 
his  chamber. 

Oh,  never  was  nursing  such  as  the  first  stricken 
soldiers  of  "the  war"  received!  Friends  were  brothers 
and  sisters  in  devotion  then ;  strangers  were  friends ; 
and  private  enemies  were  annihilated !  The  wounded 
man  was  the  hero  of  a  sympathizing  and  admiring  circle. 
He  was  the  opportunity  by  which  non-combatant  patri- 
otism found  its  most  congenial  expression"! 

As  time  wore  on,  Markham  began  slowly  to  im- 
prove. The  dullness  left  his  brain  and  the  terrible 
weight  which  pressed  down  his  limbs  began  to  lighten. 
The   good   Doctor  aided    the  efforts    towards   recovery 

253 


2^4  ^-^GS  AXD    THISTLES.  f 

by  kind  supervision  and  some  few  co-operative  reme- 
dies. 

"  If  we  can  prevent  fever,  and  keep  his  mind  active, 
he  has  still  a  chance,"  he  said. 

So  Markham  was  often  encouraged  to  tell  the  sad 
story  of  his  brief  career  as  a  soldier — that  episode  of 
ridicule  and  tears — the  first  "onto  Richmond"  move- 
ment of  the  war.  Those  who  heard  him  were  not 
critical.  They  were  not  only  loving  and  tried  friends, 
but  they  counted  it  a  privilege  to  listen  to  the  recital  of 
one  who  had  shared  for  a  few  hours  the  perils  of  battle 
for  the  sake  of  the  nation's  integrity.  Again  and  again 
he  told  over  to  a  delighted  and  wondering  auditory 
the  story  of  his  one  battle — the  first  great  battle  of  a 
gi-eat  war.  He  told  of  the  camp-life  in  Washington,  in 
rough  huts  upon  the  public  squares — a  new  element  in 
the  strangely-compounded  life  of  the  cosmopolitan  cap- 
ital. Their  hearts  had  burned  with  new  zeal  for  the 
conflict  when  they  learned  of  the  martyrdom  of  that 
fairest  and  most  beloved  of  young  warriors,  Ellsworth, 
of  the  gold-brown  locks  and  sunny  eyes  f  Ellsworth, 
the  knight  and  the  ascetic  I  Peter  and  St.  John  in  one  I 
And  then  Markham  told  them  how  the  novelty  of  camp- 
life  began  to  wear  off,  and  the  daily  routine  grew  dull 
and  wearisome.  How  at  last  came  the  order  to  be 
ready  to  move  at  sunrise,  and  how,  just  as  the  first 
gleam  of  the  sun  tipped  the  city  spires  with  light,  while 
the  late-houred  metropolis  was  wrapped  in  the  sweet 
sleep  of  the  summer  morning,  the  regimental  band  sent 
the  shrill  notes  of  *'  the  assembly"  shrieking  and  pulsing 
through  the  drowsy  fog  which  still  rested  in  the  silent 


FROM    y'lIE    GATES   OF  DEATH. 


255 


streets  and  along  the  wide  Potomac.  Company  after 
company  marched  out — every  man  with  crowded  knap- 
sack and  haversack,  laden,  not  merely  with  rations,  but 
with  all  the  little  luxuries  that  the  citizen-soldier  deemed 
convenient  and  pleasurable  for  a  holiday  campaign — 
and  took  their  places  in  the  line  with  a  new,  strange 
feeling  that  war  had  actually  begun.  The  Colonel,  a 
thoroughly-educated  soldier,  who  had  seen  service  in 
Mexico,  and  for  whom  the  future  held  unlimited  honor, 
came  forth,  clad,  not  in  the  pride  and  pomp  of  war, 
but  in  a  simple  blouse  and  slouched,  black  hat,  looped 
with  a  small  aigrette  at  the  side,  carrying  his  sheathed 
sword  familiarly  upon  his  arm ;  went  to  his  place,  half 
hidden  by  the  morning's  mist  from  the  wings,  and  in 
quiet,  unassuming  tones,  commanded: 

^^  'T^nshone — battaljw/^/  Order — arms  I  Parade — 
rest!'' 

Then  the  Adjutant  read  the  Colonel's  address — 
"regimental  order,"  it  was  called: 

"Soldiers:  In  a  few  moments  we  are  to  move  out 
to  engage,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  actual  duties  for 
which  you  have  enlisted  and  for  which  you  have  been 
preparing.  To  attain  efficiency  in  this  is  the  end  of 
all  the  other  duties  of  a  soldier's  life.  The  drill,  the 
routine  of  camp,  are  only  to  teach  self-restraint  and 
the  habit  of  obedience  necessary  for  prompt  and  united 
action  in  time  of  battle.  Should  you  be  called  upon 
to  prove  its  value,  I  trust  you  will  show  that  it  has 
brought  effective  discipline." 

At  this  point  there  were  indications  of  a  cheer  from 
these  fresh  volunteers,  which  was  suppressed  by  a  stern  : 


2c6  -        -^-^G^  --i^yj^    THISTLES. 

"Attention!"  from  the  rigid  figure  in  front.  The 
Adjutant  read  on: 

"  To  wait,  to  watch,  to  endure  patiently  at  all  times 
and  all  seasons,  to  obey  without  murmuring,  to  do  with- 
out doubting,  are  far  more  important  qualities  of  the 
soldier  than  mere  bravery  in  battle.  We  are  going 
into  hostile  territory,  but  remember  that  private  prop- 
erty and  the  persons  of  non-combatants  are  as  sacred 
there  as  here.  Let  me  hope  that  none  will  expose 
himself  to  punishment,  or  his  comrades  to  shame,  by  a 
disregard  of  these  duties." 

Then  the  arms  were  stacked  and  the  regiment  waited 
"at  rest"  for  orders.  The  sun  rose  fully;  the  morning 
dragged  wearily  away;  the  hot  noon  glared  down,  and 
still  we  waited  for  orders.  The  soldiers  ate  and  drank 
and  joked  each  other.  The  young  Colonel,  for  his 
slight  form,  springy  step  and  sparkling  black  eyes  gave 
him  the  appearance  of  youth,  though  he  was  of  middle 
age,  walked  back  and  forth,  smoking,  pulling  his  mus- 
tache impatiently,  and  practicing  very  illy  the  injunc- 
tions to  patience  that  he  had  just  given  his  soldiers. 
His  officers  gathered  around  him,  and  occasionally  his 
Adjutant  came  to  report. 

"The  movement  has  begun,"  he  said,  at  length;  "the 
— th  Infantry  is  crossing  the  Long  Bridge." 

"That  is  good,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  smile 
of  satisfaction.  "  The  regulars  should  be  in  the  ad- 
vance!" 

Again  and  again  the  Adjutant  came  and  reported 
different  regiments  upon  the  march.  The  subalterns 
of  the    regiment,    it    occurred    to   Markham,   as    he   sat 


FROM    THE   GATES   OF  DEATH.  257 

looking  on  at  this  by-play,  were  just  such  a  body  of 
men  as  Boaz  Woodley  had  predicted,  three  months  be- 
fore, our  army  would  be  cursed  with  at  the  outset. 
In  point  of  ability  and  character,  they  were  hardly 
above  an  average  of  the  regiment.  Many  of  them  were 
already  despised  and  ridiculed  by  the  soldiers  under 
their  command.  Now,  as  a  boastful  discussion  went 
on  among  them,  regarding  the  movement  just  begun, 
the  ColoPiCl  looked  curiously  from  one  to  another.  He 
was  questioned,  as  to  his  opinion,  by  one  of  the  loudest- 
mouthed  of  the  garish,  over-dressed  crowd  with  whom 
chance  had  encircled  the  cultured  soldier,  and  answered, 
savagely : 

"I  think  we  shall  be  whipped,  sir — whipped  like 
dogs !" 

"  Pshaw,  now,  Colonel,"  said  his  second  in  com- 
mand— a  thick-hided  numbskull,  whom  his  superior 
had  vainly  endeavored  to  instruct  in  the  rudiments  of 
tactical  science  and  the  routine  of  a  soldier's  life,  but 
who,  after  three  months  of  careful  attention,  was  as 
ignorant  of  his  duties  as  on  the  day  when  he  laid  aside 
the  yard-stick  and  took  up  the  sword,  "  why  do  you  say 
that.^" 

"Why  do  I  say  it.?"  asked  the  Colonel,  while  his 
eyes  flashed  fire  at  the  questioner  and  then  swept 
quickly  around  the  circle.  He  turned,  and  walked  ner- 
vously away,  chewing  the  end  of  his  cigar  fiercely,  and 
leaving  the  question  unansv/ered.  Markham  thought  he 
saw  in  that  keen  look  a  sufficient  answer.  He  thought, 
too,  that  he  read  in  the  faces  of  a  few  of  those  officers, 
young  men  who  were  worthy  of  the  shoulderstraps  they 


258  P]^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

wore,  a  sad  confirmation   of  his  own  foreboding.     Alas 
that  they  were  so  few ! 

The  shadows  were  stretching  well  to  the  eastward, 
and  the  soldiers  were  looking  back  to  the  huts  they 
had  occupied  so  long,  not  a  few  regretting  that  they 
had  wantonly  destroyed  the  cosy  domestic  arrangements 
they  had  made  in  them,  when  the  Adjutant  rode  up 
and  briefly  reported  to  the  Colonel,  w^ho  was  stretched 
listlessly  upon  his  blanket,  a  few  steps  from  where  a 
servant  held  his  horse.  The  words  transformed  him. 
In  an  instant  he  was  beside  his  horse,  and  in  his  saddle, 
and  his  voice  rang  out  joyously,  w^hile  his  face  flushed 
with  pleasure.  He  was  every  inch  a  soldier  as  he  or- 
dered : 

"Attention!  Take  arms !  Unfix  bayonets!  Shoulder 
arms!  Forward,  file  left — march!''  And  the  ;/th  N. 
Y.  V.  began  its  march  towards  the  Long  Bridge,  and  its 
commanding  officer  his  career  of  fame. 

Ah  !  many  a  one  who  followed  drew  at  each  step  nearer 
to  a  soldier's  grave  !  But  who  can  tell  the  novel  joy  of 
that  first  march.?  The  broad  river;  the  green  hills  be- 
yond, just  beginning  to  be  scarred  with  red  lines  of 
ditch  and  paiapet;  the  smooth,  winding  road,  leading  to 
a  gently  undulating  region ;  the  low-branching,  heavy- 
foliaged  Virginia  woods  which  bordered  it ;  the  setting 
sun,  and  the  balmy  evening  air !  The  great  full  moon 
looked  down  upon  our  first  night's  bivouac.  Oh  !  the 
music,  the  swelling  songs,  the  jests,  the  exultation!  The 
posting  of  real  guards  in  an  enemy's  country!  The 
bright  fires,  the  fragrant  coffee,  the  bread  and  bacon, 
unanimously  voted   better   than   Delmonico's   best,    by 


FROM    THE    GATES   OF  DEATH.  259 

reason  of  the  relish  that  a  few  hours  of  lively  marching 
had  given,  and  the  night  of  quiet  rest  among  aro- 
matic shrubs,  with  dreams  of  home  and  fame ! 

Markham's  story  of  the  battle  of  Bull  Run  was  not 
the  one  given  in  the  official  reports,  nor  that  of  pains- 
taking, veracious  and  ubiquitous  correspondents.  He 
knew  nothing  about  the  grand  strategy  which  planned 
the  battle,  though  he  gradually  formed  his  own  opinion 
of  it  afterwards.  Neither  was  it  filled  with  galloping 
aids,  caparisoned  steeds,  or  magnificently-clad  generals, 
whose  coolness  and  temerity  astounded  friend  and  foe 
alike;  not  that  he  was  unwilling  to  recount  such  mar- 
vels, but,  simply,  he  did  not  happen  to  see  them.  As  he 
grew  stronger,  he  read  many  accounts  of  the  battle  in 
Avhich  he  had  been  stricken.  The  more  he  compared 
these  reports  and  narratives  with  each  other  and  with 
the  facts  which  he  had  observed,  the  stronger  became 
his  conviction  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  battle  which 
he  had  helped  to  fight,  and  he  sometimes  caught  himself 
wondering  whether  he  was  there  at  all.  He  wondered, 
too,  if  the  poems  and  pictures  of  battles  long  past 
would  seem  as  strangely  absurd  to  those  who  fought 
them.  There  must  always  be  a  vast  difference  between 
the  view  of  a  battle  as  it  presents  itself  to  a  private 
or  a  line  officer,  and  the  aspect  presented  to  a  staff  or 
field  officer.  The  little  happenings  about  the  former 
so  absorb  his  attention  that  he  has  no  time  to  take  in 
the  larger  events  which  are  a  little  remote,  and  of  which 
he  is  a  small  and  insignificant  part.  And  a  still  greater 
difference  separates  both  of  these  from  the  general  view 
made  by  the  newspaper  correspondent,  who  gathers  and 


26o  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

combines  the  many  parts  to  form  his  entire  picture. 
While  the  yet  later  historian  stands  at  a  still  greater 
distance,  and  on  higher  ground,  and  loses  most  of  the 
detail  in  his  grand  perspective  effect  of  the  tout  ensemble. 
In  fact,  the  soldier's  story  of  the  battle  is  no  story  of 
the  battle  at  all,  but  only  the  tale  of  his  own  day's 
fighting.  Madame  History  takes  no  account  of  any- 
thing less  than  a  Colonel,  rarely  coming  below  a  Gen- 
eral;  and  as  Markham  Churr  was  only  a  Sergeant  in  a 
volunteer  regiment  which  had  never  smelled  powder 
before  that  day,  perhaps  it  may  be  counted  an  infringe- 
ment of  the  prerogatives  of  that  veracious  jade,  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  tell  his  own  story  of  the  day's  fight 
and  his  part  therein.  On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  for 
that  very  reason  it  is  worth  telling,  and  as  it  is,  after  all, 
the  story  of  his  life  which  concerns  us  now,  he  has, 
doubtless,  a  right  to  give  his  own  account  of  the  battle 
in  which  he  fought  and  suffered. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE     sergeant's     STORY. 

AS  Markham 's  talk  is  a  pretty  long  one,  the  printer's 
device    of   quotation-marks   may   be   omitted.     It 
ran   as  follows  : 

We  had  been  at  Centerville  for  two  days.  There 
was  some  firing,  off  to  the  left,^the  day  we  came  there. 
The  day  before,  two  men  were  whipped  in  one  of  the 


THE    SERGEANT'S   STORY.  26 1 

regular  regiments  for  desertion.  It  was  a  sickening 
sight.  I  think  that  was  the  first  thing  we  had  seen 
which  seemed  like  real,  earnest  war.  All  before  had 
been  a  sort  of  sport — a  long  holida5\ 

It  must  have  been  about  three  o'clock  Sunday  morn- 
ing when  I  vras  wakened  out  of  the  pleasantest  of 
dreams,  all  about  home  and  Lizzie,  by  Lieutenant  G., 
who  said :  "  Rouse  up  the  men.  Sergeant,  and  have 
them  get  breakfast  as  quickly  and  quietly  as  possible. 
We  must  be  ready  to  start  in  half  an  hour.  Be  sure 
and  make  no  noise." 

So  I  went  around  and  shook  each  of  the  men,  and 
whispered  to  them,  and  could  hear  others  doing  the 
same  all  over  the  half-wooded  hill  on  which  we  were 
camped.  In  ten  minutes,  there  was  a  perfect  hum  over 
the  whole  hill.  Every  one  was  trying  to  do  as  much  as 
he  could  with  as  little  noise  as  possible.  As  a  conse- 
quence, I  think  there  was  more  confusion  than  if  noth- 
ing had  been  said  about  being  quiet.  The  coffee  was 
ready,  finally,  and  we  gulped  down  our  tin  cups  full  of 
it  alm'ost  boiling  hot,  from  fear  we  should  not  be  ready 
when  the  order  to  march  came. 

I  don't  know  why  it  was,  but  all  this  time  I  had 
been  trembling  like  a  leaf.  It  was  not  a  cold  morning, 
though  of  course  the  early  dawn  was  chilly.  I  don't 
think  I  was  afraid,  either  ;  but  it  came  so  suddenly — 
waking  from  a  sound  sleep,  and  knowing  that  we  were 
going  to  march  out  to  fight,  and  might  never  have 
another  breakfast — somehow,  it  all  set  my  teeth  chat- 
tering like  an  ague.  We  knew  the  enemy  were  just 
across    the   creek,   not   more    than    two   or  three  miles 


2  62  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

away,  for  there  had  been  a  skirmish  there  three  days 
before,  and  once  or  twice  there  had  been  growls  off  at 
the  left,  which  sho-wed  that  the  chain  of  hills  south  of 
the  Run  was  to  be  the  first  line  of  conflict.  Our  ene- 
mies, too,  we  were  very  far  from  despising.  A  good 
deal  of  the  boasting  of  our  men  had  died  away  since 
we  left  Washington,  and  I  saw  an  inclination  towards 
peaceful  life  in  our  company  bully  which  I  had  never 
noted  before.  I  think  it  did  more  to  cure  my  ague,  to 
see  others  worse  affected,  than  anything  else  could  have 
done. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  when  we  took  our  place  in 
the  line  of  march  along  the  pike  towards  Groveton, 
\vhich  crosses  Bull  Run  at  what  is  called  Stone  Bridge. 
It  must  have  been  nearly  a  westerly  course,  for  when 
the  sun  rose  it  was  almost  at  our  backs.  The  march 
was  a  very  silent  one  at  first,  every  one  seeming  to  think 
that  we  might  stumble  on  the  enemy  at  any  moment. 
We  were  listening,  too,  for  the  roar  of  artillery  in  our 
front,  telling  us  that  the  battle  had  begun.  We  kept 
halting  every  few  moments,  waiting  to  clear  the  road  in 
front,  they  said,  though  I  never  saw  anything  that  could 
have  obstructed  it,  except  a  broken  bridge  across  a 
small  stream,  which  we  might  have  gone  around  just  as 
easily  as  over.  The  light  and  w^armth  of  the  sunshine 
seemed  presently  to  drive  the  gloom  from  our  minds, 
as  vrell  as  the  darkness  from  the  earth,  for  v/e  soon 
began  to  laugh  and  talk  as  much  as  ever.  After  a 
while,  we  turned  off  to  the  right,  on  vvhat  seemed  to  be 
an  almost  unused  country-road,  and  then  began  to  push 
along  the  low,  oak-wooded  ridge  at  a  smart  pace. 


THE    SERGEANT'S   STORY.  263 

About  eight  o'clock,  a  sort  of  thrill  went  through 
the  whole  column.  Every  one  stopped  instinctively, 
turned  his  head  to  the  left,  and  listened.  There  was 
no  mistaking  it  at  first,  but  every  one  waited  to  hear  it 
again  before  he  spoke.  It  came  in  a  moment — clear, 
heavy,  harsh,  and  terrible — the  sound  of  artillery,  to 
the  southward.  It  seemed  only  just  beyond  the  thin 
skirt  of  woods  to  our  left ;  and  when  we  passed  an 
open  space  we  looked  off  toward  the  opposite  line  of 
hills  for  the  smoke. 

"They  are  at  it,"  v/as  the  general  remark;  and  then 
all  was  bustle  along  the  line.  Officers  and  orderlies 
rode  back  and  forth,  and  everybody  began  to  hurry 
everybody  else.  It  seemed  to  be  a  general  understand- 
ing that  our  column  was  late.  We  did  not  know  where 
we  were  going,  nor  whether  we  were  in  the  main  body 
of  the  army,  or  a  mere  unimportant  fraction ;  but,  from 
the  anxiety  manifested,  we  naturally  judged  the  former. 
It  was  said  that  General  Hunter  was  in  command  of 
our  column;  but  we  knew  no  more  of  General  Hunter 
til  an  we  did  of  a  general  advance,  having  no  knowledge 
of  either  until  that  day. 

When  there  came  a  halt  for  a  little  time,  we  were 
ordered  to  examine  our  arms,  and  see  that  onr  am- 
munition was  in  proper  order  and  ready  for  use.  It 
had  been  inspected  before  we  left  camp,  and  it  is  prob- 
able that  this  examination  was  due  to  the  over-caution 
of  some  subaltern  rather  than  made  by  the  command 
of  any  competent  authority.  However,  it  was  a  good 
tliing  to  be  done  just  then,  for  it  gave  us  something  to 
do.     Soon  we  hurried  on  again.     Turning  off  from  the 


264 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


wooded  ridge  we  had  been  following,  we  crossed  some 
narrow  valleys,  and  came  out  upon  a  wood-crowned 
hill,  overlooking  as  fair  an  arena  as  was  ever  prepared 
for  the  conflict  of  two  armies. 

At  our  very  feet  was  a  green  valley,  stretching  away 
to  the  right  and  left,  dotted  here  and  there  with  wheat- 
fields  where  the  grain  stood  in  shocks,  and  flooded 
with  the  hot  sunlight  of  that  midsummer  Sabbath 
morning.  The  hill  upon  which  we  stood  sloped  grad- 
ually southward  to  the  very  bank  of  a  bright  stream, 
which  rushed,  sparkling  and  gurgling,  over  its  rocky 
bed,  broken  into  here  and  there  by  cross  ravines,  that 
marked  the  course  of  numerous  tributaries.  From  the 
opposite  side,  rose  another  slope,  similar  in  all  respects 
to  that  on  which  we  stood,  and  crowned,  like  this, 
with  the  low-branching,  heavy-foliaged  oaks  of  the 
South.  Here  and  there,  upon  these  two  slopes,  were 
the  regiments  of  our  column  which  had  preceded  us. 
Some  had  already  crossed  the  ford,  and  were  going 
into  position,  or  were  already  engaged  upon  the  other 
side,  while  others  were  hurrying  towards  the  ford  or 
crossing  over.  A  little  to  the  right,  in  a  pleasant 
grove,  was  the  church  from  which  the  ford  takes  its 
name ;  almost  in  our  front,  upon  the  other  slope,  a 
dwelling ;  and  to  the  left,  at  some  distance  down  the 
valley,  an  old  mill,  with  some  other  buildings.  On 
one  of  the  knolls  into  which  the  opposite  ridge  was 
broken  by  intersecting  ravines,  we  could  see  a  line  of 
white  smoke  puffing  out  from  the  base  of  the  wood 
that  crowned  the  summit,  and,  at  a  little  distance  be- 
low, a  wavy,  blue   line,  over  which  flew  the  Stars  and 


THE    SERGEAXT'S   STORY. 


265 


Stripes,  half-hidden  by  answering  puffs  of  smoke,  while 
the  light  breeze  bore  to  our  ears  the  sound  of  an  ir- 
regular, fitful  fire  of  musketry.  From  another  crest 
came,  at  short  intervals,  sharp,  angry  jets  of  flame,  and 
the  spiteful  roar  of  artillery,  which  was  sending  its 
"  plague  of  iron  death "  into  the  regiments  emerging 
from  the  woods  and  filing  towards  the  ford. 

To  our  left,  and  well  advanced  upon  a  spur  of  the 
ridge  on  which  we  stood,  was  a  battery  of  our  own, 
which  had  just  unlknbered,  and  was  sending  back  a 
fierce  reply  to  the  challenge  of  the  enemy's  guns. 

Here  we  were  ordered  to  leave  our  knapsacks  and 
blankets,  which  we  placed  in  a  neat  pile,  with  a  guard 
detailed  to  take  care  of  them,  little  dreaming  that  we 
should  never  see  them  again.  Then  we  filed  down  to- 
wards the  stream,  which  sparkled  and  glowed  beneath 
the  sun  like  molten  silver.  The  shot  came  screeching 
over  us  as  we  passed  on,  and  buried  themselves  in  the 
hillside,  or  ricochetted,  and  went  howling  away  into  the 
woods  from  which  we  had  com.e. 

"Faith,"  said  our  company  jester,  "it's  lucky  we 
didn't  stay  where  those  fellows  are  going."  Everybody 
dodged  as  they  howled  by  us  except  the  Colonel.  He 
rode  as  quiet  and  erect  as  if  on  parade. 

"  Steady!  They  haven't  got  the  range  yet,"  he  said, 
coolly,  and  rode  on,  unmoved. 

As  we  crossed  the  ford,  how  grateful  the  cool,  splash- 
ing water  seemed,  after  the  hot,  dusty  march.  A  shot 
which  struck  in  the  stream  just  below  scattered  the 
drops  over  us.  Then,  as  we  started  up  the  slope,  they 
came  screeching  over  us  every  few  yards.     I  tried  to 


266  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

■  keep  the  ranks  closed  up,  and  endeavored  to  distract 
my  own  thoughts  by  attending  to  this  duty.  Presently 
a  shot  struck  the  ground  just  beyond  our  company. 
There  was  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  a  smothered  cry  from 
the  rear  of  the  column.  I  stepped  forward  a  little,  to 
where  my  friend,  Sergeant  W.,  was  marching.  As  "ex- 
perience "  began  to  come  close,  I  felt  the  need  of  a 
friendly  grip,  and  held  out  my  hand  to  him.  His  face 
was  white;  his  eyes  had  a  strained  and  glaring  look; 
but  his  mouth  was  firm  set,  and  the  grip  of  his  hand 
like  the  clasp  of  a  vise.  Just  then  we  were  changing 
our  line  of  direction  to  the  left,  and  the  side  of  the 
column  w^as  exposed  to  the  battery's  fire.  As  I  halted, 
to  let  the  column  pass  on  till  I  should  be  opposite 
my  place  again,  a  shot  whizzed  by  so  near  I  could 
almost  have  reached  it  with  my  hand.  What  a  fierce, 
howling  devil  it  was  I  I  knew  it  was  charged  with  an 
evil  errand,  and  shut  my  eyes  that  I  might  not  see  its 
work.  I  heard  a  strange,  dull  thud,  some  half-uttered 
groans.  Something  warm  splashed  up  in  my  face. 
There  was  a  horrible  sickness  in  my  heart,  "Close 
up!"  I  shouted  to  the  men.  God  knows  what  I  should 
have  done  if  I  could  not  have  spoken.  I  turned  half 
round  before  opening  my  eyes.  All  the  faces  before 
me  were  blanched  and  quivering  when  I  did  look  to- 
wards them.  One  of  the  files  of  our  company  was 
gone ! 

We  kept  on  to  the  left,  towards  one  of  the  cross 
ravines,  the  dry  bed.  of  a  winter  stream.  Between  us 
and  it  was  a  meadow,  where  the  hay  stood  in  cocks. 
As   we   crossed,   all    at    once   the    straggling   woods    on 


THE   SERGEA:\2"S   STORY. 


267 


the  farther  side  became  alive  with  armed  men,  and 
the  bullets  began  to  whistle  about  us.  Poor  Johnny 
Clegg,  who  stood  just  before  me,  was  one  of  the  first 
who  was  struck.  He  was  a  mere  boy,  as  gentle  as  a 
girl,  and  much  beloved  by  us  all.  He  clasped  his 
hand  to  his  breast  as  he  fell  back  into  my  arms,  and 
said,  quietly:  "I  am  hit.  Sergeant.  Good-bye."  I  laid 
him  down  by  one  of  the  hay-cocks,  in  the  shade  of  a 
tree  which  grew  near — a  hickory,  I  remember — almost 
afraid  that  I  ought  not  to  give  even  that  much  to 
friendship  at  that  moment.  While  I  was  doing  this, 
the  regiment  moved  on  across  the  meadow  into  the 
dry  bed  of  the  stream.  It  w^as  a  channel  some 
three  or  four  feet  deep,  and  ten  or  fi.fteen  wide,  and 
formed  a  fine  rifle-pit.  Here  we  stood  and  fired 
at  the  enemy  in  the  bushes  above  us.  We  were  out 
of  range  of  the  battery,  but  back  and  forth  above 
us  shrieked  and  groaned  the  shell  and  shot,  and  the 
hot  air  shook  with  the  clamor.  The  Colonel  was  in 
the  meadow  still.  He  had  dismounted,  I  think,  and 
was  holding  his  horse  near  a  persimmon  tree  which 
grew  a  few  paces  from  the  center  of  the  line.  I  have 
learned  since  that  he  was  wounded  by  a  minie  ball, 
which  broke  his  thigh,  and  he  retired.  His  successes 
came  later  in  the  war.  His  officers  v/ere  so  much 
attached  to  him  that,  I  am  told,  quite  a  squad  of  them 
accomipanied  him  from  the  field,  and  escorted  him  all 
the  way  to  Washington.  I  do  not  know.  I  did  not  see 
them  afterward  I  am  sure.  Those  who  staid  were  brave 
enough,  however.  We  kept  on  firing,  and  after  a  little, 
nearly  cleared  the  hill  in  our  front  of  the  enemy.     All 


268  J^^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

at  once  there  was  a  shout,  and  the  bullets  began  to 
come  from  the  rear.  We  faced  about,  and  there,  upon 
the  other  slope  of  the  ravine,  was  a  regiment  coming 
down  upon  us.  Some  of  our  fellows  called  out  to  them 
not  to  fire,  thinking  they  were  our  own  men.  They 
did  not  seem  to  understand  what  it  meant.  I  noticed 
then  that  our  colors  were  not  in  sight.  They  had  been 
lowered,  I  think,  to  avoid  concentrating  the  enemy's  fire 
on  the  center.  We  were  so  hidden  in  the  channel  that 
I  am  not  surprised  they  could  not  make  us  out.  I  did 
not  think  any  of  the  time  that  they  were  friends,  though 
I  could  not  see  their  flag;  but  they  had  a  strange,  un- 
familiar look.  It  was  not  the  uniform  that  puzzled  me, 
though  that  was  gray,  for  both  the  Connecticut  and 
Ohio  regim.ents  wore  nearly  the  same  color,  but  it  was 
something  in  the  look  of  the  men  themselves.  They 
halted  about  a  hundred  yards  from  us  and  an  officer 
rode  forward,  with  two  or  three  on  foot  near  him,  ap- 
parently to  examine  our  line.  I  have  thought  since  that 
he  may  have  supposed  we  had  surrendered,  since,  by 
that  time,  nearly  all  of  our  m.en  were  waving  their  hats 
and  shouting:  "Don't  shoot!  Don't  shoot!"  Our 
second  lieutenant  said,  "  I  will  go  and  see  who  they 
are,"  and  jumped  out  of  the  ditch  and  started  towards 
them.  He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps,  when  the  officer 
in  their  front  turned  towards  his  men,  gave  some  com- 
mand, and  they  began  a  scattering  fire  upon  us.  The 
lieutenant  came  running  back,  ducking  his  head,  like 
a  boy  fighting  bumble-bees,  and  shouting : 

"Rebs!  Rebs!     Fire!  fire!" 

He  rolled  into  our  natural  trench  just  as  a  full  vol- 


THE   SERGEANT'S   STORY.  269 

ley  burst  on  us  from  the  hillside  and  was  at  once 
returned.  Their  shots  passed  clean  over  us,  we  being 
so  much  below  them,  and  protected  by  the  bank,  but 
every  one  of  ours  seemed  to  tell.  The  officer  in  their 
front  fell  from  his  horse,  and  one  of  those  who  were 
with  him  fell  also.  We  could  see  their  men  falling 
and  much  confusion  in  their  ranks.  Their  fire  grew 
weak,  and  they  began  to  move  off  with  very  little  order 
up  towards  the  woods  on  their  left.  Some  one  of 
ours  clambered  on  the  bank  and  shouted,  "Charge!" 
Everybody — officers  and  men — repeated  the  cry — it  is 
hardly  proper  to  call  it  an  order.  We  jumped  out  of 
the  ditch  and  "charged"  up  the  hill.  It  v/as  not  a 
very  good  line,  but  I  h^ve  no  doubt  we  looked  for- 
midable, for  every  one  was  in  serious  earnest,  and  we 
were  much  elated  at  having  repulsed  them.  Before  we 
came  up  with  them,  they  broke  entirely  and  ran  towards 
the  woods.  They  left  a  great  many  dead  and  wounded 
on  the  field.  Somebody  said  it  was  a  Georgia  regi- 
ment, and  that  the  mounted  officer  was  General  Bee. 
I  think  it  was  one  of*  their  wounded  men  who  told  us. 

After  this  little  episode,  we  did  not  go  back  to  our 
old  position,  not  because  we  were  ordered  to  go  else- 
where, but  it  seemed  to  be  the  general  impression  that 
we  had  had  a  narrow  escape  there,  and  had  better  look 
for  a  better  place.  There  was  very  little  like  organiza- 
tion in  the  regiment  after  that  time.  The  greater  part 
of  it  went  back  towards  the  mouth  of  the  ravine,  and 
then  wandered  down  near  the  old  mill. 

It  was  past  midday  then,  and  the  fight  was  going  on 
all   around.     I  had  lost  my  cap,  and  a  shell  bursting 


2^0  P^GS  '^^^    THISTLES.   . 

near  me  blacked  the  side  of  my  face  with  powder  and 
filled  it  full  of  little  particles  of  iron.  It  was  a  shell 
charged  with  fulminating  powder,  and  expected  to  do 
great  damage,  but  the  powerful  charge  seemed  to  have 
shattered  the  shell  into  fine  atoms,  and  it  hurt  no  one. 
It  was  terribly  hot,  and  we  drank  out  of  the  pools  in 
the  bed  of  the  dried-up  streams.  Some  of  them  were 
very  muddy,  but  who  can  resist  the  thirst  that  battle 
brings  1 

When  vre  came  back,  down  by  the  mill,  we  held  a 
consultation  as  to  where  v/e  should  go.  No  one  came 
after  us,  or  brought  us  any  orders,  but  we  were  in  the 
business  then,  and  of  course  had  to  do  something.  At 
some  distance  to  the  right  we  could  see  that  some 
regiments  with  red  uniforms  were  hotly  engaged.  So 
v\-e  decided  to  go  there.  We  had  hardly  started,  when 
some  one  on  horseback  came  by  and  ordered  us  to  form 
on  the  side  of  the  hill  above  us,  to  the  left,  and  hold 
our  position  until  relieved.  It  may  have  been  a  gen- 
eral or  only  a  courier;  he  was  on  horseback,  so  we 
obeyed  him.  There  seemed  to  us  no  reason  for  our 
being  put  there,  but  the  reason  presently  appeared. 
Before  long,  two  assaults  were  made  on  our  position 
and  repulsed.  We  had  got  used  to  it  by  that  time,  bit 
our  cartridges  and  rammed  the  bullets  home  and  fired 
away  as  steadily  as  v,e  could  have  done  on  drill. 
Our  officers  had  picked  up  the  guns  of  some  who  were 
killed,  and  fired  as  regularly  as  any  of  the  men.  A  good 
many  were  hit.  I  was  so  busy  that  I  could  not  tell 
vv'ho.  There  v/as  a  battery  just  at  our  right,  a  part 
of  the   time,  before   we   had  advanced  to  the  hill-top. 


THE    SERGEANT'S   STORY.  ^yi 

I  do  not  know  what  battery  it  was.  It  engaged  the 
rebel  battery  then  in  our  front,  and  the  shells  and 
solid  shot  flew  over  us,  and  sometimes  through  our 
line,  without  much  interval  between  the  explosions. 
Once,  the  left  of  our  line  v/as  driven  back,  but  it 
came  up  again  and  we  held  our  position.  There  was  a 
wide  interval  on  either  flank  between  us  and  any  other 
force.  Indeed,  we  could  not  see  that  we  had  any  relation 
to  the  other  regiments,  nor  they  to  each  other  or  to  us. 
Vv'e  were  so  elated  with  having  repulsed  the  attack, 
however,  that  we  advanced  our  line  and  took  up  a 
position  on  the  crest  of  the  little  hill.  We  were  then  i^ 
the  woods.  We  could  hear  the  battle  going  on  all 
around  us,  but  we  were  quite  covered  and  apparently 
had  no  enemy  remaining  in  our  front. 

Of  course,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  noise,  and,  in 
a  certain  sense,  much  confusion  ;  but  the  noise  of  battle 
is  not  like  the  tumult  of  the  storm,  when  one  stands  on 
the  shore  and  feels  the  north  wind  pile  the  breakers  on 
the  beach,  and  sees  the  lips  of  his  friend  move,  an 
arm's  length  away,  and  knows  that  he  is  speaking,  but 
cannot  hear  a  word.  The  roar  of  battle  is  over  and 
above  the  soldier,  but  with  him  v/ho  fights  there  is 
a  sort  of  silence  which  seems  all  the  more  terrible  from 
the  fact  that  it  seems  unnatural.  You  hear  what  a 
comrade  says  when  he  is  stricken;  you  answer  an  in- 
quiry of  one  on  your  right  as  to  the  enemy,  and  of  one 
on  your  left  as  to  how  many  cartridges  you  have  left, 
without  for  a  moment  ceasing  to  fire.  The  roar  of 
battle  is  terrible,  but  its  silence  is  still  more  fearful. 
The  turmoil  is  above  and   about  the  soldier,  but  the 


272 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


silence  with  him  and  of  him.  So,  too,  he  does  not  see 
everything  that  is  being  done  in  the  range  of  his  vision, 
but  the  fevv  things  v\"hich  his  eyes  note  are  photographed 
on  hiis  memory  forever.  I  shall  never  forget  the  sweaty, 
grimy  faces,  nor  the  set  lips  and  straining  eyes  which  I 
saw  around  me  that  day — no,  nor  the  still,  white  faces 
and  glaring  eyes  that,  unseeing,  looked  upward  to  the 
hot  summer  sunshine.  I  do  not  believe  I  should  have 
thought  much  of  the  roar  and  tumult  had  it  not  rang  in 
my  ears  so  long  aftervv^ards.  I  knew  it  must  have  been 
^erritic,  but  I   hardly  heard  it  at  all. 

We  were  half-vv^ay  up  the  southern  slope,  and  the 
northern  one  that  we  had  left  in  the  morning  shone  hot 
and  glaring  under  the  afternoon  sun.  Gradually  the 
contest  seemed  to  flag.  There  was  no  musketry  fire 
of  any  moment.  Hardly  an  enemy  was  to  be  seen  from 
our  position.  The  battery  at  our  right  had  limbered 
up  and  gone  to  the  left,  where  we  could  hear  it  pound- 
ing away,  with  only  an  occasional  reply.  On  the  ex- 
treme right  of  our  line,  two  of  the  enemy's  guns  were 
still  served  with  some  vigor,  and  there  was  some  de- 
sultory musketry  fire.  I  think  this  cessation  of  firing 
was  more  startling  and  demoralizing  to  our  men  than 
the  continuance  of  the  battle  would  have  been.  We 
began  to  look  around,  and  vronder  what  we  were  doing 
in  our  present  position,  why  we  were  tliere,  how  we 
were  supported,  and  what  would  be  the  next  move  of 
the  enemy. 

We  looked  back  into  the  valley,  and  saw  first  small 
and  then  larger  crowds  (for  they  lacked  in  general 
the  order  of  regiments  and  companies),  one  after  an- 


THE   SERGEANT'S   STORY.  273 

Other  converging  at  the  ford,  recrossing,  and  going  up 
the  slope  down  which  we  had  come  in  the  morning. 
Half-way  up  it,  they  were  met  by  a  man,  who  rode  back 
and  forth  in  their  front,  waving  his  hat,  and  apparently 
remonstrating  with  them.  Then  some  one  said  that  a 
new  line  was  being  established,  and  that  we  were  or- 
dered to  fall  back  and  form  en  that  line.  So,  back 
we  went,  down  the  slope  to  the  stream,  across  it,  and  up 
the  northern  slope  towards  the  halted  mass — without 
any  reason  that  we  could  comprehend,  rather  disgusted 
at  the  backward  movement,  but  supposing  that  it  had, 
been  ordered,  and  was  "  all  right."  Before  we  reached 
the  line,  I  was  struck  by  a  piece  of  a  shell,  fired  from 
the  battery  which  the  enemy  were  still  serving  off  at  the 
right.  I  think  it  was  a  mere  chance-shot,  though  the 
line,  then  formed,  may  have  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  gunner.     I  fell,  and  the  others  passed  on. 

Now  here  is  a  curious  thing.  Lying  there,  I  saw 
this  "  new  line"  dissolve  without  firing  or  receiving  a 
shot,  for  I  think  the  shot  which  struck  me  was  the 
very  last  fired  on  that  part  of  the  line  until  the  enemy's 
advance  an  hour  afterwards.  The  break  began  gradu- 
ually,  while  the  officer  who  had  suceeded  in  stopping 
the  first  movement  was  still  haranguing  and  exhorting ; 
but  soon  it  became  a  wild  rush,  sometimes  with  the 
semblance  of  order  and  sometimes  without.  At  all 
events,  the  great  mass  surged  up  the  hill,  and  the  army 
which  had  come  so  proudly  upon  the  field  in  the  morn- 
ing vanished  before  the  sun  went  down — wuth  scarcely 
an  enemy  in  sight. 

After  a   time,  I   sav/  the   enemy  coming  cautiously 


2  74  ^IG^^  ^"^^^^    THISTLES. 

down  the  other  slope.  Then  the  fear  of  capture  took 
hold  of  me.  I  could  not  walk.  That  was  out  of  the 
question.  But  I  cravv^ied  to  the  edge  of  the  wood 
above.  Then,  made  desperate  by  the  exultant  and 
increasing  yells  behind,  I  got  into  the  wood,  and  kept 
on — God  only  knows  how — through  the  long  hours  of 
the  night,  crawling,  clambering,  hobbling,  on  toward 
Centerville — not  by  the  way  we  had  come,  but  by  some 
sort  of  blind  instuict  taking  the  right  direction.  It  vras 
morning  when  I  dragged  myself  inside  our  lines.  I 
was  just  in  time.  Somebody  put  me  in  an  ambulance 
— they  said  it  wtis  the  last  one — and  I  was  brought  to 
Washington.  The  doctor  said  that  night's  trip  did  me 
m.ore  harm  than  the  wound  itself. 

Now,  that  is  v\diat  I  saw  of  the  battle  of  Bull's  Run. 
I  do  not  think  we  were  defeated,  in  any  proper  sense. 
We  certainly  had  the  advantage  so  far  as  I  could  see, 
and  had  been  gaining  all  day  on  that  part  of  the  field. 
That,  too,  was  the  very  part  where  the  panic,  as  it  is 
called,  is  said  to  have  begun.  Somehow,  it  seems  a 
queer  thing  to  call  a  panic.  I  had  heard  of  that  mys- 
terious, sudden,  and  universal  terror  which  sometimes 
seizes  upon  the  best-disciplined  and  most  veteran  hosts, 
and  in  an  instant  turns  victory  into  defeat,  and  triumph 
into  rout.  I  had  always  supposed  that  was  a  sudden 
and  frenzied  rush — a  race  for  life.  This  was  not  so,  at 
least  in  its  beginning.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  any 
lack  of  courage  or  confidence  among  any  whom  I  saw, 
until  those  unemployed  m.oments  in  mid-afternoon,  when 
the  conflict  almost  ceased,  and  the  enemy  had  disap- 
peared, except  a  few  weary-moving  gunners  on  a  distant 


THE   SERGEANT'S  STORY. 


275 


hill.  Our  men  fought  bravely,  even  recklessly,  in  many 
instances.  It  is  true  that  some  of  the  officers  of  our 
regiment,  ai^d  part  of  the  men,  by  some  means,  became 
separated  from  us  when  the  Georgians  came  upon  our 
rear,  but  two-thirds  of  us  remained  together,  and, 
during  the  remainder  of  the  battle,  had  no  responsible 
head.  Yet  they  repelled  two  sharp  attacks,  and  mani- 
fested no  inclination  to  go  backward.  On  the  contrary, 
they  were  always  for  pressing  forward.  And  I  have  no 
reason  to  believe  that  the  others  did  not  join  some  other 
command,  and  do  their  duty  equally  well. 

When  the  fighting  ceased,  however,  our  men  began 
to  look  aroand.  Then  came  an  overwhelming  sense  of 
isolation.  Each  regiment  felt  that  it  was  by  itself.  We 
had  not  been  associated  in  brigades,  so  as  to  know  our 
comrades  in  battle.  I  doubt  if  a  single  soldier  knew 
the  name  of  another  regiment  in  our  brigade,  or  hardly 
that  we  were  attached  to  any  brigade  at  all.  Nor  did 
we  know  our  commander.  It  was  rumored  that  we 
were  under  General  Hunter,  but  he  was  a  myth.  None 
of  the  soldiers  knew  him.  He  might  have  ridden 
through  our  ranks  a  dozen  times,  and  not  been  recog- 
nized or  distinguished  from  a  courier,  unless  it  were 
by  the  few  regulars  who  perhaps  knew  his  person  in 
ante-bellum  days.  I  don't  mean  to  complain,  but  it 
does  seem  hard  to  blame  brave  men  for  not  following 
those  they  never  saiv  nor  heard  of  in  the  relation  of 
leadership.  Besides,  we  had  not  even  the  vaguest 
knov>'ledge  of  the  plan  of  attack — the  idea  of  the  battle. 
It  might  not  have  been  in  accordance  with  army  regu- 
lations and  the  articles  of  war  to  let  common  soldiers 


276  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

know  what  the  general  intended ;  yet  we  know  that 
Napoleon  reposed  just  such  confidence  in  his  raw  levies, 
and  that  Cromwell  used  to  tell  his  army  what  he  ex- 
pected them  to  do,  as  well  as  what  they  had  done,  and 
that  almost  every  general  who  has  successfully  led  a 
citizen  soldiery,  from  Joshua's  day  until  now,  has  done 
so  by  making  them,  in  a  measure,  his  confidants.  If 
our  men  had  been  told  that  morning,  at  roll-call,  where 
they  were  expected  to  go,  and  what  they  were  called 
upon  to  do,  and  in  what  general  manner  it  v»-as  to  be 
done,  it  would,  1  think,  have  been  done.  Though  our 
force  but  little,  if  at  all,  exceeded  the  enemy's,  and  they 
had  the  advantage  of  position,  we  had  the  prestige  of 
an  established  government  battling  with  unrecognized 
rebellion. 

Besides,  however  well-planned  the  battle  may  have 
been,  there  was  no  continuity  of  line  or  perceptible 
concert  of  action  The  battle  seemed  to  have  been 
begun  by  detail,  and  carried  on  by  accident.  There 
was  no  appearance  of  a  distinct  purpose  or  design  dis- 
cernible by  us,  or,  what  is  more  to  the  point,  by  any 
one  in  whom  we  trusted.  The  officers  of  the  line  knew 
as  little  as  we,  and  the  lield-ofificers  of  the  various  regi- 
ments we  saw  seemed  to  know  no  more. 

For  these  reasons,  I  think  it  was  that,  when  the 
fighting  ceased  for  a  time,  the  men  of  the  separate  regi- 
ments, looking  about,  concluded  that  they  v\'ere  unsup- 
ported, thought  perhaps  they  had  gone  too  far,  and, 
becoming  apprehensive  that  their  isolation  might  expose 
them  to  destruction — having  no  knowledge  of  the  ra- 
tionale of  the  battle — began  to  fall  back,  in  order  to 


THE    SERGEANT'S   STORY.  277 

put  themselves  in  protective  relations  with  other  regi- 
ments. This  backward  movement  at  once  became  con- 
tagious. Yet  it  was  deliberate  and  orderly  until  some 
time  after  they  had  passed  the  ford.  I  suppose  it  be- 
came a  rout  afterwards.  It  was  certainly  a  frightened, 
disorganized  crowd  which  we  overtook  after  I  was  put 
in  the  ambulance  the  next  morning.  I  was  delirious 
after  that,  and  have  only  a  dim  memory  of  rushing,  fear- 
stricken  throngs  in  the  city's  streets,  and  turmoil  and 
apprehension   everywhere. 

The  men  were  intelligent  and  brave,  but  were  raw 
soldiers.  Military  discipline  had  not  yet  superseded 
the  necessity  of  individual  knowledge,  nor  obedience 
become  so  habitual  as  to  supply  the  want  of  confidence. 
They  needed  the  knowledge  of  co-operative  and  mutu- 
ally-dependent movements  to  supply  the  lack  of  per- 
fected discipline — to  know  what  was  required  of  them, 
and  to  realize  that  they  were  supported  in  its  perform- 
ance. I  repeat  my  belief  that,  had  the  general  plan  of 
battle  been  read  at  the  head  of  each  regiment  on  that 
morning,  and  the  movement  been  made  on  time,  with 
an  evident  co-operation  of  forces,  we  should  ha^^  won. 


Thus  the  soldier  talked  to  his  neighbors  of  his  first 
battle,  during  the  days  of  convalescence.  When  he  had 
seen  and  shared  in  many  another,  his  opinion  of  this 
was  still  unchanged. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
"snuffing  the  battle  from  afar." 

MONTHS  elapsed  before  Markham  Churr  showed 
any  visible  improvement.  It  is  true,  his  mind 
seemed  to  recover  its  vigor,  and  he  became  interested 
once  more  in  the  events  which  those  pregnant  da)s 
were  bringing  forth,  but  his  body  seemed  forever 
chained  to  his  couch  by  the  dull,  invisible  power  which 
sat  upon  his  limbs.  Many  remedies  were  tried,  some 
so  full  of  torture  and  suffering,  so  combining  the  scari- 
fying knife,  the  scorching  plate,  and  the  stinging  blister, 
that  their  recital  would  be  a  horror ;  others  so  danger- 
ous to  the  life  they  were  designed  to  save  that  the  good 
Doctor's  hand  trembled,  and  his  cheek  grev/  pale,  as  he 
estimated  the  amount  v>diich  he  might  use  to  conquer 
disease  without  sacrificing  his  friend.  To  attack  the 
citadel*  of  disease,  it  was  necessary  to  threaten  the 
stronghold  of  life.  The  subtle  extract  of  the  almond- 
thrilled  Markham's  nerves  and  knotted  his  muscles  with 
its  acrid  potency ;  Volta's  mysterious  fluid  was  invoked, 
and  the  tamed  lightning  was  sent  through  the  torpid 
members;  but  all  in  vain.  Still,  powerless  and  benumbed 
they  lay,  until  the  hopeless  sufferer  begged  again  that 
he  might  be  left  to  die  in  peace. 

But  the  young  wife  would  not  despair.     vShe  revived 
his   hope,  quickened   his   ambition,   and   stimulated   his 
278 


syUJ'J^JAG    J -HE    BATI'LE    FROM   AFAR."      279 

love  of  life,  by  all  the  fond  arts  of  affection.  She  was 
ever  before  him,  beckoning  him  back  to  the  world  he 
seemed  fated  to  leave.  Music  and  sunshine  came  with 
her.  Day  after  day  she  drove  with  him,  carefully 
wrapped  and  pillowed,  in  the  light  sleigh,  through  the 
country  roads,  along  the  lake  banks,  into  the  remem- 
bered woods,  first  to  this  old  friend  and  then  to  that 
one;  to  Rexviile  and  Aychitula,  to  the  county  seat 
when  the  court  was  in  session,  even  to  Greenfield  on 
the  Pymatuning — to  the  house  of  Curtis  Field.  Wher- 
ever he  had  been,  wherever  the  eddies  of  the  great 
world  might  get  hold  of  his  sluggish,  stricken  life,  the 
young  wife  took  care  that  he  shoidd  go. 

As  the  months  passed,  she  suggested  that  he  might 
do  something  for  the  country  which  he  loved,  even  in 
his  crippled  state — ^that  his  devotion  might  be  used  to 
inspire  the  flagging  zeal  of  others.  So  he  wrote  some 
scraggly  verse — full  of  patriotism  and  gu&li,  and  there- 
fore suited  to  the  times — which  he  read,  sitting  propped 
up  on  a  chair,  at  fairs  and  festivals  held  to  procure 
supplies  for  the  soldiers  Sometimes  he  v/ent  to  meet- 
ings and  spoke,  in  the  same  way.  It  was  a  weak,  crippled 
way  to  reach  his  fellow-men,  and  he  almost  always  felt 
more  helpless  than  ever  afterward,  but  his  good  friend, 
the  Doctor,  began  to  look  brighter  and  speak  more 
hopefully  to   the  patient  wife. 

At  length  the  spring  began  to  show,  and  one  day, 
when  the  maples  were  yielding  their  first  juices,  he 
found  that  he  could  move  one  of  his  legs  a  very  little. 
Hope  shot  up  in  his  heart  at  once.  Lizzie  was  so  over- 
whelmed with   gratitude  that  her  soul  overflov%^ed  in  a 


28o  P^G^  '-i^^'-D    THISTLES. 

song  of  praise,  sweeter  and  tenderer,  if  less  majestic, 
than  the  fierce  rhapsody  which  Miriam  chanted  in  re- 
vengeful triumph  over  the  drowned  Egyptians.  The 
Doctor  was  told  the  good  news. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  with  a  look  of  confidence  in  his  face 
at  last.     "Now  we  v/ill  try  the   strychnia  again." 

When  the  violets  and  adder-tongues  began  to  show- 
on  the  sunny  banks  in  the  meadow,  he  v/as  able,  with 
a  crutch  and  Lizzie's  arm,  to  hobble  out  to  them  and 
enjoy  their  beauty,  with  a  glad  hope  making  its  spring- 
time in  his  heart. 

Boaz  Woodley  had  been  the  first  to  prophesy  that 
Markham  would  recover.  When  he  found  him  at  Wash- 
ington, after  the  battle,  and  talked  with  the  surgeon  who 
had  him  in  charge,  and  informed  that  officer  of  ]\Iark- 
ham's  conduct  on  the  battlefield,  as  told  by  his  com- 
rades, the  surgeon  listened  to  him  in  wonderment. 
"And  he  made  his  way  into  Centerville  alone  .'^"  he 
asked,  incredulously. 

"I  know  nothing  about  that,"  said  Woodley.  "The 
men  of  his  regiment  thought  him  dead." 

"But  I  do,"  said  the  surgeon.  "I  was  there  when 
he  was  brought  in  by  some  of  the  pickets,  to  whose 
station  he  had  crawled,  they  said,  but  a  fev/  minutes 
before,  on  his  hands  and  knees." 

"Just  like  him,"  said  'Woodley;  "if  he  could  not 
vralk,  he  would  be  sure  to  take  the  next  best  way  of 
getting  on.     I  am  not  at  all  surprised   to  hear  it." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  he  could  do  it,"  said  the  sur- 
geon. "I  never  knew  anything  to  compare  with  it — 
so  exhausting,  hopeless  and  persistent  an  effort — and  I 


''S.VUFFIXC    THE   BATTLE   FROM  AFARr      28 1 

am  sorry  that  he  did  it.     We  can  ill  afford  to  lose  such 
rien  at  this  time.'' 

"Lose  them .^"  said  Woodiey,  anxiously.  "You  do 
not  mean  to  say  he  will  die.'*" 

"  He  may  not  die  immediately,  but  he  will  never  walk 
again,"  answered  the  surgeon,  sadly. 

"  Not   walk  ?     I  had  understood  that  the  wound  was 
nearly  healed  already." 

"So  it  is;  but  it  seems,  either  from  the  sudden  shock 
or  from  that  subsequent  exertion  and  exposure,  to  have 
produced  a  congestion  of  the  spinal  cord  (the  v\^ound 
was  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  fifth  lumbar  vertebra), 
which  has  resulted  in  paraplegia — paralysis  of  the  lower 
extremities,"  he  explained,  seeing  that  Woodiey  did  not 
understand  the  term. 

"  No  hope  for  him  ?"  asked  Woodiey,  musingly. 

"  Oh,  yes — hope  ,  but  not  a  very  bright  one.  He  is 
youns:,  and  time,  and  care,  and  determination  have 
much  to  do  with  such  an  injury  I  must  say,  though,  I 
think  his  chances  very  slight — hardly  worth  consider- 
ing." 

"  You  say  it  depends  something  on  the  exercise  of 
will.?" 

"  Oh,  a  very  great  deal  " 

"  He  will  recover,  then  I  would  guarantee  him  to 
walk  without  any  legs  if  will  could  accomplish  that 
miracle  " 

"  It  will  require  something  more  than  will,  I  fear," 
said  the  dor,tor 

''  Well,  send  him  home,"  said  the  confident  Woodiey. 
"Here  is  his  discharge.     It  will  go  hard  if,  between  his 


282  ^^GS  '^'^'^    THISTLES. 

own  pluck  and  his  young  v/ifc's  care,  he  does  not  get 
on  his  feet  again." 

Now  that  Maikham  seemed  in  a  fair  v/ay  to  fulfill 
this  prediction,  he  insisted  that  Woodley  should  be  noti- 
fied of  the  fact  at  once. 

Boaz  Woodley  had  left  the  staff  of  the  Governor  of 
the  State,  and,  by  the  special  order  of  the  President,  had 
been  assigned  to  duty  as  Superintendent  of  Railway 
Transportation  for  one  of  the  western  departments — a 
position  altogether  to  his  liking,  and  the  duties  of  which 
he  discharged  in  a  manner  which  might  well  be  antici- 
pated from  his  previous  success  in  life.  It  involved  an 
independent  and  discretionary  power,  an  amount  of  re- 
sponsibility and  keenness  of  foresight  well  suited  to  his 
broad  and  adventurous  spirit.  His  was  one  of  the  many 
appointments  which  so  fully  justified  the  sagacity  of  the 
President.  But  his  capacity  had  yet  been  hardly  tested. 
Before  the  conflict  ended,  in  m.ore  than  one  crisis  of 
the  nation,  he  was  yet  to  display  a  pov/er  of  organiza- 
tion which  was  wonderful. 

Boaz  Woodley  liked  Markham  Churr.  He  would 
hardly  have  admitted  to  himself  how  much.  He  was 
at  all  times  a  worshiper  of  success.  His  good  opinion 
of  himself  was  largely  based  on  adm.iration  of  his  own 
ability  to  accomplish  what  he  undertook.  He  loved  to 
promote  success,  and  he  dreaded  and  despised  failure. 
There  were  several  things  in  tlie  character  and  life  of 
iNlarkham  Churr  which  peculiarly  pleased  this  iron  man. 
In  the  first  place,  Markham,  like  himself,,  had  started 
from  the  bottom-rung  of  society's  ladder,  with  the 
determination  to  reach  the  top  by  dint  of  quiet  energy 


'^SNUFFING    THE   BATTLE  FROM  AFARr      283 

and  sheer,  unflinching  pluck.  He  had  never  complained 
of  difficulty  or  misfortune.  So  far  as  any  one  knew, 
he  had  never  doubted  or  faltered.  Whatever  twig  hunc: 
over  his  head,  which  could  assist  him  in  his  purpose, 
he  had  grasped,  and  clung  to  with  a  quiet  pertinacity 
which  had  hitherto  accomplished  its  aim.  Compara- 
tively unassisted,  he  had  worked  his  way  to  the  plane 
on  which  the  highest  manhood  fights  its  battle.  Boaz 
Woodley  had  marked  him  at  the  first  as  one  destined 
to  success.  He  called  him  a  lucky  man.  He  believed 
in  luck — so  he  said — though  no  man  ever  trusted  to  it 
less. 

In  the  affair  of  the  bank,  Markham  had  displayed 
qualities  which  had  won  the  admiration  of  his  employer. 
There  was  a  keenness  of  observation  and  clearness 
of  reasoning  displayed,  which  Woodley  could  well  ap- 
preciate— he  did  not  possess  it  in  the  same  degree. 
He  admired,  also,  the  unhesitating  readiness  with  which 
Markham  had  entered  the  service  at  first.  He  did 
not  credit  him  with  half  the  real,  romantic  patriotism 
by  which  the  youth  was  really  actuated,  but  counted 
it  a  bold,  brilliant  play  in  the  game  of  life.  Nay, 
Woodley  was  even  unav/are  of  his  own  self-forgetful 
readiness  to  do  the  same,  because  he  did  not  stop  to 
analyze  his  own  motives.  He  had  watched  Markham's 
course  as  a  private  soldier,  and  found  that  he  had  un- 
shrinkingly and  unsparingly  devoted  himself  to  the 
performance  of  his  duties,  however  irksome,  and  had 
assiduously  consecrated  his  leisure  to  the  attainment 
of  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  various  branches  of 
the    service,    preparing    himself    for    any    contingency 


284  ^^<^^  ^-^'^    THISTLES. 

which  might  arise.  He  flattered  himself  that  this  was 
on  account  of  the  advice  which  he  had  given,  and  deter- 
mined to  indulge  his  hobby,  and  enable  the  young  sol- 
dier to  achieve  still  further  success  in  the  service.  He 
felt  that  he,  himself,  could  only  obtain  a  certain  sort  of 
renown  in  the  war.  Its  m^ore  brilliant  honors  were  not 
for  him.  His  habits  were  fixed.  He  had  reached  very 
nearly  the  limits  of  his  mould.  He  could  only  grov/ 
in  the  direction  of  his  past  life  and  thought.  Yet  he 
did  not  despise  those  honors  which  attend  the  success- 
ful soldier,  and  he  determined  to  gratify  the  sense  of 
conquest — his  desire  for  achievement — by  placing  laurels 
on  the  brov/  of  Markham  Churr.  He  was  thoroughly 
satisfied  that  the  youiig  man  would  do  honor  to  his 
tutelage,  and  fully  justify  any  hope  which  might  be 
based  on  his  capacity  and  manhood.  He  saw,  too,  or 
thought  he  saw,  in  Lizzie,  the  very  nature  which  was 
necessary  to  supplement  the  qualities  of  her  husband 
and  insure  his  success.  She  was  noble-hearted,  ambi- 
tio,us,  shrewd,  trustful,  and  confident  of  the  future. 
She  would  never  stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement, 
nor  would  any  scherLe  of  his  miscarry  for  lack  of 
her  co-operation. 

There  may  have  been  yet  another  reason.  Let  us 
not  do  him  injustice.  The  wife  of  Boaz  Wocdley  had 
never  seemed  to  have  any  place  in  his  life.  She  was  a 
small,  quiet  woman,  of  rather  weak  mind,  who  had  kept 
his  house  in  order  and  n^ver  dared  to  have  a  wish  or  do 
an  act  contrary  to  her  husband's  will  in  all  their  long 
wedded  life.  They  seemed  to  have  in  common  only 
their   abode   and    the    one    son    of   their  mature    years. 


'SXUFFIXG    THE   BATTLE   FROM  AFARr      285 

She  asked  nothing  of  his  business,  and  he  told  her 
nothing.  Slie  knew  that  he  was  prosperous.  She  saw 
farm  joined  to  farm,  house  added  to  house,  and  knew 
that  still  greater  concerns  were  occupying  her  husband's 
attention,  yet  she  made  no  inquiry.  It  seemed  only  a 
matter  of  course  to  her.  All  that  she  needed  had  been 
supplied  by  her  husband  without  request  and  without 
failure.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  exercised  no 
scrutiny  over  the  affairs  of  the  household.  They  had 
lived  two  separate,  but  not  antagonistic,  lives  under  the 
same  roof. 

Their  son  formed  the  one  point  at  which  these  two 
oddly-linked  souls  met.  His  nature  was  like  the 
mother's;  silent,  shy,  of  feeble  constitution,  he  gave  no 
promise  of  his  father's  strength.  Of  delicate  tastes, 
and  of  tender  and  affectionate  disposition,  he  seemed  to 
suit  the  needs  of  both  parents — the  mother  who  had 
been  waiting  all  her  life  for  some  one  on  whom  to  lavish 
her  caresses,  and  the  father  for  some  one  to  appreciate 
his  wealth  and  enjoy  his  munificence.  So  he  had  lived 
through  a  precarious  childhood  and  a  doubtful  youth, 
only  to  perish  at  the  threshold  of  manhood,  during  the 
winter  before  the  war  began.  As  a  character,  he  had 
never  made  any  impression  upon  his  rugged  father, 
who  regarded  the  boy  as  much  an  incident  of  himself 
as  any  covered  possession.  To  his  mother,  however, 
his  death  had  been  an  overwhelming  calamity.  She 
mourned  for  him  a  few  weeks  in  a  strange,  silent  way, 
and  then  took  to  her  bed,  and  after  a  few  painless  days 
of  listless  decline  followed  her  idol  to  the  grave. 

Boaz  Woodley  did   not  seetn  to   mourn  for  her,  not 


2  86  ^^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

even  as  much  as  he  had  for  his  son ;  but  he  wandered, 
in  restless  inquietude,  about  the  deserted  house  for  a 
f-Lw  days,  as  if  he  missed  an  accustomed  and  necessary 
presence.  Then  he  shut  it  all  up  except  the  kitchen, 
in  which  he  put  a  trusted  pair  who  had  long  been  in 
his  employ,  and  went  away.  The  neighbors  said  he  had 
not  entered  the  house  since. 

It  may  be  that  this  desolation  of  his  hearthstone 
inclined  him  all  the  more  favorably  to  I-.Iarkham  Churr 
and  his  young  wife.  He  was  said  to  have  no  relatives. 
Brothers,  sisters,  uncles,  cousins,  nephews,  or  nieces — 
none,  if  he  had  any,  had  ever  made  themselves  known. 
Even  his  wife  was  the  last  of  her  family.  Perhaps  this 
very  loneliness  caused  him  to  wish  to  link  with  his  later 
years  the  fresh,  young  life,  the  energy  and  ambition,  of 
Markham  Churr. 

There  may  have  been  still  other  reasons,  or,  indeed, 
it  may  only  have  been  a -freak  of  a  nature  so  abounding 
in  strength  that  his  own  needs  and  desires  did  not  fur- 
nish burden  enough  for  him  to  bear. 

Whatever  may  have  been  his  motive,  he  at  once 
turned  his  attention  to  promoting  the  interests  of  his 
protege,  who,  in  the  meantime,  was  surprising  the  medi- 
cal fraternity  by  an  unexpected  recovery.  Securing  a 
short  leave  of  absence,  he  came  to  the  capital  of  the 
State,  and,  after  a  brief  interview  with  the  Governor, 
went  on  to  his  own  home.  He  visited  Markham,  and 
his  words  of  impatient  kindliness  did  much  to  hasten 
the  recovery  of  his  former  favorite,  who  now  made  long 
and  rapid  strides  towards  full  strength  again.  Soon 
thereafter  Woodlev  received  the  following  leave  of  ab- 


''SNUFFIXG    THE  BATTLE  FROM  AFAR."      287 

sence,  which  was  not  published  in  general  orders,  and 
only  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  world,  by  accident, 
long  afterwards  : 

"  Colonel  B,  Woodley  is  relieved  from  duty  as  Chief 
of  Transportation,  in  order  that  he  may  recruit  a"  regi- 
ment of  infantry,  he  having  undertaken  to  arm  and 
equip  the  same  at  his  own  expense." 

Accompanying  this,  was  an  order  from  the  Governor 
of  the  State,  assigning  Colonel  Boaz  Woodley  to  the  com- 
mand of  the Regiment  Ohio  Vol.  Inf.,  which  he  was 

ordered  to  recruit  within  sixty  days,  and  which  would 
rendezvous  at  Lanesville.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to 
repair  to  this  rendezvous,  Markham  Churr  was  named 
second  in  command  of  this  regiment.  On  his  arrival 
there,  he  found  a  house  prepared  for  his  occupancy, 
and  was  requested  by  Woodley  to  send  for  his  wife, 
and  make  himself  at  home  in  it  until  the  regiment 
should  march.  To  the  organization,  discipline,  and 
equipment  of  this,  the  undivided  energies  of  botli  men 
were  given,  with  such  success  that,  before  the  time 
limited  in  the  order,  its  ranks  were  full,  and  Boaz  Wood- 
ley's  bounty  had  put  into  the  hands  of  every  soldier  in 
its  ranks  one  of  the  new  repeating  or  magazine  rifles, 
by  which  a  hundred  shots  may  be  fired  in  less  time 
than  was  required  for  ten  discharges  by  the  old  muzzle- 
loading  system.  Colonel  Woodley  had  for  some  time 
been  endeavoring  to  ir.d  ice  the  Government  to  adopt 
this  style  of  arm,  which,  l.ut  for  his  foresight  and  liber- 
ality, might  not  have  had  an  opportunity  to  display  its 
excellencies  in  the  field  during  the  entire  conflict. 


2  83  ^/(^-S"  ^l^y-D    THISTLES. 

Woodley  had  constituted  himself  the  patron  and 
banker  of  Markham,  and  had  insisted  on  supplying 
whatever  funds  he  might  require  in  his  new  position. 
To  the  details  of  the  camp,  and  the  condition  of  the 
command,  he  gave  no  attention  beyond  that  scrutiny 
which  all  things  underwent  which  fell  beneath  his  eye. 
To  Markham  he  had  plainly  said: 

"You  will  command  this  regiment.  I  have  no  de- 
sire to  do  so  more  than  in  name,  and  that  but  for  a 
brief  period — only  just  long  enough  to  get  it  well  into 
the  field.  Then  I  shall  bid  you  good-bye,  and  go  back 
to  the  Transportation  Office  again.     That  is  my  place." 

To  the  drill  and  discipline  of  the  new  regiment 
Markham  devoted  himself  with  the  utmost  assiduity, 
gaining  strength  and  vigor  with  every  day,  so  that  when 
the  cherries  were  ripe  in  the  old  homestead  at  Fairbank 
again,  he  was  ready  for  the  field  of  battle  once  more; 
and  when  their  orders  came  to  report  for  duty  to  aid  in 
resisting  the  rapid  advance  of  Bragg  in  Kentucky,  Lizzie 
saw  him  go  almost  without  regret,  assured  that  the 
Power  which  had  so  mysteriously  preserved  him  hitherto 
would  have  him  in  charge  thereafter.  With  him  went 
the  good  Doctor,  as  surgeon  of  his  regiment,  and  a 
thousand  of  the  best  and  bravest  of  the  country  round. 

On,  the  rear  platform  of  the  train,  as  it  vanished 
from  her  sight,  stood  Lizzie's  husband — his  face  flushed 
with  eager  joy  even  as  he  returned  her  farewell  salu- 
tations— and  Boaz  Woodley,  with  his  unpretending 
blouse  and  the  white  Panama  hat  which  he  would  per- 
sist in  \vearing,  despite  his  rank.  She  w-ondered  at  the 
strange  combination,  and  was  not  without  apprehension 


'SXi'FFIXC    7VI£   BATTLE   FROM  A  FAR:' 


289 


as  to  the  result  of  this  intimate  association.  As  she 
turned  away  after  the  train  had  disappeared,  and  the 
crowd  was  dispersing,  she  opened  a  package  which  Boaz 
Woodley  had  put  into  her  hand  as  he  said  good-bye, 
and  found ^a  duly  executed  deed  of  gift  for  the  house 
they  had  occupied  at  Lanesville.  It  was  just  opposite 
Woodley 's  mansion,  and  they  had  found  it  neatly  fur- 
nished when  they  went  there,  with  Woodley  himself 
ensconced  in  one  of  the  rooms,  which  he  said  he  should 
occupy  while  there,  to  save  the  necessity  of  opening  his 
great  house  across  the  way.  He  had  staid  with  them 
nearly  all  the  time,  and  Lizzie  had  become  so  thor- 
oughly domesticated  there  that  it  was  with  a  pang  that 
she  had  contemplated  removing  from  it.  A  sudden 
flush  of  joy  seized  her  when  she  realized  that  she  was 
the  mistress  of  this  pleasant  home  and  its  belongings. 
She  doubted  not  that  it  had  been  arranged  between  her 
husband  and  their  friend  to  give  her  this  surprise.  So 
she  wrote  to  them  both,  expressing  her  thanks  for  the 
gift  and  joy  in  its  reception.  When  Markham,  with  the 
letter  in  his  hand,  sought  his  superior,  and  asked  infor- 
mation in  regard  to  it,  he  was  met  by  rhat  officer  with 
this  declaration  : 

"Markham,  you  and  I  may  as  well  understand  each 
other.  You  refused  me  when  I  thought  myself  your 
debtor,  and  now  I  have  given  your  wife  a  house,  to  get 
even  with  you." 

"But,  Colonel,  I  cannot  accept  your  bounty.  You 
have  more  than  made  me  your  debtor,  already,  and  I 
cannot  receive  further  gratuity,"  answered  Markham. 

"  But  is  not  what  I  have  my  own  1     Can  I  not  be- 


290  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

Stow  it  on  whom  I  please  ?  Have  I  not  a  right  to  give 
to  you,  or  the  country,  or  to  ^^hom  I  choose?"  asked 
Woodley,  petulantly. 

"  Very  true,  it  is  your  own,  and  you  have  the  un- 
doubted right  to  dispose  of  it,  but,  at  the  same  time,  I 
cannot  allow  myself  to  draw  on  your  bounty  to  such  an 
extent,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  confound  your  pride,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  about  it?  Lizzie  has  the  property,  is  pleasantly 
located,  and  is  happy.  Are  you  going  to  turn  her  out, 
and  require  her  to  take  lodgings  while  you  are  away  ?" 
asked  Woodley,  sharply. 

"  No,"  said  Markham,  hesitatingly,  "  I  cannot  do 
that.  She  is  delighted  with  the  place,  and  it  was  my 
ambition  to  buy  her  just  such  a  one  as  soon  as  I  should 
be  able.  Ill  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  Colonel.  I'll  buy 
it  of  you.  I'll  pay  for  it.  Whatever  money  I  receive 
above  my  necessities  I  will  pay  over  to  you." 

"That's  right.  Do  so,  by  all  means,  and  I  will  invest 
it  securely.  I'hen,  if  you  come  out  of  this  troublesome 
war  safe  and  sound,  we  will  settle  to  your  satisfaction. 
If  you  do  not,  your  wife  will  have  a  house,  and  I  shall 
never  feel  regret  for  what  I  have  done.  Let  it  be  so, 
and  let  us  have  no  more  words  about  it." 

So  the  matter  dropped,  but,  month  by  month,  the 
young  officer  transferred  his  surplus  funds  to  Woodley, 
and,  month  by  month,  the  latter  invested  them  for  him. 


CHAPTER    XXX VT. 

THE    BAPTISM    OF    FIRE. 

THE  regiment  was  ordered  to  Louisville,  before 
which  city  the  Confederate  Gen.  Bragg  was  making 
a  strong  demonstration,  while  his  forces  were  ravaging 
the  fertile  plains  of  Kentucky,  collecting  cattle,  horses, 
mules,  and  all  sorts  of  supplies,  for  the  use  of  his  army. 
A  few  weeks  before,  the  scattered  Federal  forces  had 
confronted  the  enemy  at  Cumberland  Gap,  at  various 
points  in  eastern  and  middle  Kentucky,  and  along  the 
line  of  the  railroad  from  Nashville  to  the  Tennessee 
River.  Bursting  over  the  mountain  range  at  different 
points,  the  Confederate  generals  either  fell  upon  these 
detached  posts  or  threatened  the  attenuated  line,  until, 
in  a  fortnight,  with  the  solitary  exception  of  Nashville, 
the  Federal  troops  held  only  the  line  of  the  Ohio  River, 
and  the  Confederate  forces  of  Bragg  and  Kirby  Smith, 
having  effected  a  junction,  held  undisputed  possession  of 
"the  dark  and  bloody  ground,"  as  Eastern  ICentucky  was 
called  during  the  early  days  of  Daniel  Boone's  conflicts 
with  the  Indians. 

A  state  of  affairs  like  this  was  peculiarly  aggravating 
to  a  mind  like  Wocdley's.  Defeat  in  fair  fight  would 
not  have  disturbed  his  equanimity ;  but  to  be  outwitted, 
out-generaled,  and  out-maneuvered — to  see  a  superior 
force  fleeing  from  an  inferior  one — taxed  his  patience 

sorely. 

291 


2  92  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"Of  course,  I  understand  the  retreat,"  he  said  to 
Markham  as  they  sat  in  front  of  their  quarters  on  the 
line  at  Louisville,  with  a  map  spread  out  on  the  camp- 
table  before  them.  "  That  is  as  natural  as  the  flight  of 
a  covey  of  partridges  when  a  hawk  shoots  among  them. 
Vv'e  had  seventy  thousand  men  scattered  all  over  two 
States,  a  few  here  and  a  few  there.  General  Bragg, 
with  thirty  thousand,  drops  on  the  extreme  end  of  a 
line  hardly  strong  enough  to  form  an  occupation,  dou- 
bles it  up  like  a  juece  of  tape,  and  comes  rushing  along 
our  scattered  posts  to  meet  Kirby  Smith,  who,  with 
twenty  thousand  more  Confederates,  has  been  playing 
the  same  game  at  the  other  end  of  the  line,  in  the  east- 
ern part  of  this  State.  Why  don't  our  generals  fight 
battles,  pursue  armies,  conquer  the  enemy's  forces,  in- 
stead of  trying  to  take  towns  and  hold  outposts }  Why 
don't  they  mass  troops  instead  of  scattering  all  the 
time  ? 

"Now,  here,"  he  continued,  "is  this  force  in  our 
front;  it  never  ought  to  be  allowed  to  leave  Kentucky. 
The  impudent  rascals  cohle  over  a  range  of  mountains 
we  seem  to  have  counted  inlpassable.  and  dodge  around 
a  force  equal  to  their  own^  and  we  shall  let  them  get  back 
again,  past  these  obstructions,  with  a  force  of  double 
their  strength  pressing  on  their  rear,  and  take  with  them 
all  their  plunder.  Wlien  Bragg  gets  ready  to  fall  back, 
we  shall  cautiously  follow  him.  Instead  of  hemming  him 
in  betv»een  a  strong  force  at  Nashville  and  one  advanc- 
ing upon  him  from  the  westward,  so  as  to  compel  his 
capture  or  dissolution,  our  forces  must  be  brought 
around  here  by  boats,  so  as  to  leave  his  line  of  retreat 


THE   BAPTISM   OF  FIRE.  293 

open  and  unobstructed!  We  ?re  massed  here  now  on 
the  pretense  of  keeping  Bragg  out  of  Ohio  and  Indiana. 
God  knov/s  I  wish  he  would  go  there  !  Instead  of  being 
in  his  front  we  ought  to  be  in  his  rear  now,  or  at  least 
upon  his  flank.  He  has  given  us  an  opportunity'*  vvhich 
will  never  occur  again.  If  we  let  this  one  slip,  it  will 
cost  us  more  men  than  he  has  in  his  army  to  get  another 
such.     He  ought  to  be  destroyed. 

"  So,  too,  we  ought  to  arm  our  men  with  these  new 
breech-loaders.  It  can  -  be  done  in  six  months,  and 
every  nerve  ought  to  be  strained  to  effect  that  object. 
Vv'hat  is  tiie  use  of  army  boards,  and  reports,  and  experi- 
ments ?  The  facts  are  in  a  nutshell.  A  boy  can  master 
them  in  an  hour.  When  our  next  spring  campaign 
opens,  there  ought  not  to  be  a  muzzle-loader  in  our 
army.  One  man  with  the  magazine  breech-loader  is 
equal  to  five  men  with  the  old  arm.  Your  regiment, 
Markham,  though  it  has  hardly  a  man  in  it  who  ever 
smeiled  powder,  is  equal  to  any  brigade  in  this  army." 

"You  mean  your  regiment,"  said  Markham,  smiling. 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Woodley.  "I  va^^xs.  yours.  I 
am  just  staying  with  it  as  a  sort  of  shoulder-strapped 
supernumiCrary  till  I  can  see  it  in  one  good  fight.  Then 
I  go  to  my  own  work.  I  am  no  soldier,  and  am  too  old 
to  learn  now;  but,  if  I  were,  instead  of  digging  ditches 
about  Louisville  to  keep  Bragg  out,  I'd  make  him  Runt 
a  hole  to  get  out  at  himself.  If  I  had  this  army  in 
hand,  thcre'd  be  a  fight  or  a  foot-race  devilish  quick." 

Eoaz  Woodley  had  correctly  defined  his  relation  to 
the  regiment  he  had  raised.  He  was  only  its  nominal 
commander;    and    this    fact    was   well    understood    and 


2  94  T^/c;^  AXD    THISTLES. 

recognized  by  his  superiors.  Had  he  desired,  he  might 
have  had  a  much  higher  command.  A  man  who  could 
raise  a  regiment,  and  present  it  to  the  Government 
already  et|uipped,  and  armed  vi-ith  a  new  and  costly 
weapon,  had  claims  to  favor  which  few  men  could  equal. 
Whatever  related  to  the  drill,  efficiency,  or  duty  of  the 
regiment,  he  left  in  Markham's  hands.  He  himself  re- 
mained in  the  camp,  in  the  city,  or  went  hither  and 
thither,  on  a  perennial  leave  of  absence,  as  he  chose. 
What  he  said  in  his  own  quarters  he  uttered  not  less 
boldly  in  the  presence  of  his  commander. 

At  length,  one  afternoon  in  October,  he  came  out 
upon  the  line,  v/here  the  regiment  was  on  picket-duty, 
and,  calling  Markham  aside,  said : 

'"Well,  Bragg  has  got  through  his  harvesting,  and 
started  off  with  his  plunder,  and  we  are  to  follow  after, 
as  I  supposed.  He  has  been  gone  three  days,  and  we 
start  to-morrow.  There  is  not  much  likelihood  of 
catching  him,  but  I  will  stay  with  3^ou  a  few  days,  in 
the  hope  that  you  may." 

It  was  as  he  said ;  and  the  next  day,  the  Army  of 
the  Ohio,  under  the  most  Fabian  of  commanders,  began 
a  pursuit  which  should  have  been  of  the  most  impetuous 
character,  with  a  deiiberateness  of  movement,  and  care- 
ful preparation  for  defeat,  which  nonplussed  and  irri- 
tated the  unprofessional  soldiers  who  constituted  the 
bulk  of  his  subordinates. 

The  weather  was  delightful,  the  very  perfection  of 
Indian  summer.  The  forests  were  in  the  glory  of  their 
autumn  sheen.  The  corn  stood  ungathered  in  the 
fields   where    it    had   grown   in    rank  luxuriance.     The 


THE   BAPTISM   OF  FIRE,  295 

wheat-fields  were  brown  with  a  dense  growth  of  bitter 
sage.  The  tobacco  had  been  cut  from  the  hill,  and  the 
suckers  were  growing  rank  and  green  from  the  parent 
stocks.  The  hemp  lay  bleaching  in  long,  even  rows  upon 
the  margins  of  the  surface-ponds  which  abound  in  that 
region.  The  chestnut-trees  cast  their  pale-yellow  leaves 
and  the  glossy  fruit  of  their  brown  burrs  at  the  soldiers' 
feet  as  they  marched  leisurely  along  the  hard,  smooth 
pikes  or  the  less  traveled  but  yet  clear  and  passable 
country  roads.  As  they  neared  the  hill  country  which 
extends  along  the  Salt  River  and  its  tributaries,  the 
knobs  became  radiant  with  the  gold  of  clustering  hickor- 
ies, interspersed  with  the  rich  brown  of  the  oaks,  whose 
wealth  of  mast  crunched  beneath  their  feet  at  every 
step.  Only  a  scarcity  of  good  vvater  prevented  the 
loitering  march  from  being  the  very  perfection  of  holi- 
day warfare.  The  cool,  brisk  nights  and  mornings,  the 
warm,-  hazy  days,  and  the  ever-recurring  variety  of 
scenery  which  the  constant  succession  of  hill  and  valley 
gave,  all  conspired  to  lend  a  sense  of  unreality  to  the 
march  which  only  the  unaccountable  sloth  of  the  Con- 
ferate  general  transformed  into  a  hostile  movement.  It 
is  true,  Bragg  vvas  encumbered  with  the  two  thousand 
v\'agons,  loaded  with  corn,  which  he  was  taking  back 
for  his  winter  supplies,  and  with  the  immense  herds  of 
cattle,  horses  and  mules  which  he  had  collected  from 
the  rich  valleys  he  had  ravaged ;  but  it  does  seem  that, 
when  he  saw  how  careful  we  were  not  to  press  upon  his 
rear,  he  ought  to  have  used  more  expedition,  and  made 
sure  of  his  retirement.  At  all  events,  he  ought  not  to 
have   halted  between  our  forces    and  water,  when   the 


296 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


supply  had  been  so  short  that  man  and  beast  had  ahnost 
been  without  for  twenty  hours.  If  he  had  only  allowed 
us  to  get  to  the  river,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  v/e 
should  have  waited  two  or  three  days  for  our  forces  to 
come  up,  so  that  he  would  have  been  able  to  get  clean 
out  of  our  way. 

On  the  rugged  hills  of  Chaplin's  Fork,  however,  our 
testy  enemy  turned  at  bay,  having  determined  there  to 
deliver  a  blow  which  would  leave  his  rear  free  from 
pursuit  during  his  further  retreat.  It  was  a  finely- 
chosen  position — on  each  side  of  the  road  by  which 
his  chief  train  of  wagons  had  retired,  his  line  stretch- 
ing along  a  chain  of  heavily-wooded  "  knobs,"  and 
covering  all  access  to  the  stream  in  their  rear.  An  effec- 
tual repulse  of  the  force  which  was  pressing  on  him 
there  would  have  virtually  defeated  them,  since  it  would 
have  been  impossible  long  to  continue  the  contest  with- 
out a  supply  of  water. 

It  was  about  11  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  8th 
of  October,  1862,  that  the  head  of  our  column  was 
halted  by  the  imperial  roar  of  the  enemy's  Napoleons. 
The  division  to  which  Markham  Avas  attached  was  in 
the  advance,  but  his  regiment  had  been  detailed  to 
guard  the  train  that  day.  Woodley,  with  that,  disregard 
of  all  responsibility  which  characterized  his  relations  to 
the  regiment,  immediately  started  for  the  front. 

"What  a  pity,"  said  ivlarkham,  as  Woodley  mounted 
to  leave,  "  that  it  is  our  day  with  this  miserable  train." 

"Never  mind,"  said  his  superior;  "unless  I  am  much 
mistaken,  the  man  who  has  blocked  our  way  yonder 
will  give  us  all  enough  to  do  before  night." 


THE  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE. 


297 


Though  the  pursuit  had  been  leisurely,  the  deploy- 
ment, considering  the  nature  of  the  ground,  was  exceed- 
ingly rapid.  The  gallant  young  general  who  held  the 
extreme  Federal  left  burned  to  show  himself  worthy  of 
the  star  he  had  recently  received,  and,  being  ordered 
to  feci  the  enemy,  immediately  attacked  in  force.  It 
is  evident  now,  from  the  dispositions  which  he  mr.de, 
that  he  supposed  the  hills  were  held  only  b.y  a  covering 
force,  charged  with  the  duty  of  keeping  the  Federal 
army  in  check  until  the  main  Confederate  body  could 
retire.  A  sharp  artillery  duel  had  been  in  progress, 
the  guns  on  either  side  being  posted  upon  some  of  the 
more  prominent  hills,  during  the  deployment.  As  soon 
as  that  was  completed,  the  general  at  once  advanced 
his  line  to  the  crest  of  a  hill  distant  less  than  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  enemy's  line,  and  directed  a  battery 
to  take  position  in  an  open  field  upon  this  line.  He 
had  unusual  confidence  in  this  arm,  and  himself  accom- 
panied the  battery  to  its  position;  with  him  was  Boaz 
Woodley.  No  skirmishers  had  been  thrown  forward, 
and  the  enemy's  position  had  been  disclosed  only  by  a 
desultory  fire  from  the  edge  of  the  wood.  Hardly  had 
the  guns  unlimbered,  when  a  tremendous  roar  of  musket- 
ry from  the  woods  in  his  front  announced  to  the  young 
general  that  he  was  entirely  mistaken  as  to  the  force 
he  had  to  encounter,  and  had  advanced  his  line  peril- 
ously near  a  heavy  body  of  the  enemy,  massed  under 
cover  of  the  wood.  There  was  no  time  to  retrieve  his 
error.  To  retire  Avas  only  to  precipitate  the  assault 
which  must  socn  come,  and  throw  his  disordered  force 
back  upon  those  who  might  be   advancing  to  his  sup- 


298  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

port,  or  to  invite  the  enemy  to  swing  round  his  right 
and  hold  the  road  by  which  support  must  come,  while 
he  advanced  his  left,  and  cut  in  pieces  our  isolated 
right. 

The  young  general's  decision  was  made  in  an  instant. 
The  line  must  be  held  at  all  hazards.  His  first  act  v/as 
to  despatch  every  officer  of  his  staff  to  bring  up  support. - 
Then  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  encouraged  the 
gunners  by  word  and  example.  He  even  sighted  some 
of  the-  guns  himself,  as  they  vomited  charges  of  canister 
at  the  fire-fringed  wood  beyond.  Crash  upon  crash, 
came  the  roar  of  musketry  from  the  massed  battalions 
in  the  wood.  Bravely  but  weakly  the  slender  line  re- 
plied. The  gunners  fell  rapidly,  and  the  supporting 
infantry  was  decimated,  but  some  of  their  number 
sprang  forward  and  took  the  gunners'  places. 

"I  cannot  hold  my  line  fifteen  minutes  more  under 
this  fire,"  said  the  commander  of  one  of  the  brigades 
as  he  dashed  up  to  his  superior. 

"Then  hold  it  ten,"  was  the  cool  reply;  "a  minute 
may  lose  all.  Hold  the  line  while  you  have  a  man 
left.  We  7nust  hold  it,  until  support  comes.  I  have 
ordered  two  regiments,  from  the  right,  and  have  sent 
ail  my  staff  for  aid." 

Hardly  had  Boaz  Woodley  parted  wdth  Markham 
Churr,  when  the  latter  was  relieved  from  the  command 
of  the  train  and  ordered  to  rejoin  his  brigade.  Guided 
by  the  orderly  who  brought  the  command,  he  had 
threaded  his  way  between  the  hills  to  the  rear  of  the 
engaged  left  wing,  when  the  first  roar  of  musketry  came 
from  the   front.     Wheeling  into   line,  Markham   seized 


THE  BAPTISM   OF  FIRE.  '  299 

the  colors  of  his  regiment  and  pushed  forward  at  the 
double. 

Boaz  Woodley  had  not  been  idle.  Though  it  was 
his  first  time  under  fire,  he  had  divined  at  once  both 
the  error  and  the  purpose  of  the  general.  He  saw  that 
if  that  officer  left  the  battery,  it  would  soon  be  silent, 
and  the  line  would  inevitably  break  and  run.  Like  all 
masterful  natures  who  have  been  accustomed  to  domi- 
nation, his  self-control  was  remarkable,  and  it  was  not 
shaken  even  by  the  tempest  of  death  which  raged  and 
hurtled  about  him.  So  he  constituted  himself  at  once  a 
volunteer  aide,  and  rode  coolly  up  and  down  the  line 
with  words  of  cheer  and  encouragement.  The  bullets 
flew  thick  about  him,  but  he  sat  on  his  horse  as  quietly, 
and  spoke  as  evenly,  as  if  his  whole  life  had  been  spent 
in  campaigning. 

"Steady,  boys!"  he  cried,  ''fire  low  and  steady! 
Support  is  just  at  hand  !  We  must  hold  the  line  till 
they  come.     Then  we'll  move  the  rascals!" 

He  was  known  to  all,  and  his  confident  demeanor 
inspired  a  quiet  determination  which  nothing  else  could 
have  done. 

"  If  old  Woodley  can  stand  it,  we  can,"  was  the 
thought  of  those  whom  he  addressed.  Presently  an 
aide  dashed  up  to  him,  and  said  : 

"Colonel  Woodley,  you  are  now  the  ranking  officer 
of  this  brigade!     What  are  your  orders.?" 

Just  then,  Markham  burst  out  of  the  wood  below, 
his  men  cheering  heartily  as  they  pressed  on. 

"  Post  that  regiment  on  each  side  of  the  battery," 
said -Woodley  to  the  staff  officer.     He  rode  up  to  his  su- 


^oo  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

perior,  and  reported.  At  that  moment,  the  enemy's  fire 
slackened. 

"What  does  that  mean.?"  asked  Woodley. 

"They  are  preparing  to  charge,"  said  the  young 
general,  as  he  sprang  upon  a  horse  and  dashed  down 
the  line,  his  powder-grimed  face  aglow  with  excite- 
ment, enjoining  his  men  to  stand  firm,  and  wait  for 
the  word  before  delivering  their  fire.  Bayonets  were 
fixed,  and  the  shattered  line  of  blue  lay  silent,  awaiting 
the  onset.  Just  as  Markham's  regiment  rushed  into 
place,  with  a  wing  on  each  side  of  the  battery,  and  two 
other  regiments  from  parts  of  the  line  less  sorely  pressed 
formed  on  his  flanks,  the  rebel  yell  arose,  and  the 
enemy  burst  from  the  wood  above  in  magnificent  array, 
line  after  line  in  close- order,  advancing  swift  and  con- 
fident, wdth  the  easy,  swinging  step  of  fire-tried  veterans. 
The  captain  of  the  battery  gave  the  order  to  fire  as 
soon  as  the  gray  column  showed  outside  the  wood. 
The  double  charges  of  canister  plowed  through  the 
oncoming  ranks,  but  they  did  not  falter.  Markham's 
panting  men  rested  on  the  right  knee,  to  give  better 
opportunity  for  handling  their  new  weapons.  The  few 
remaining  artillerymen  tried  to  drag  their  pieces  to  the 
rear  as  the  enemy  pressed  on. 

"Steady!"  The  word  came  from  lip  to  lip  along 
the  line,  while  the  yell  of  the  enemy  grew  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  the  men  awaited  breathlessly  the  quickly- 
following  order:  ''Fire!'' 

A  sheet  of  flame  shot  from  the  kneeling  line.  The 
assaulting  column  hardly  wavered.  Markham's^  men 
threw  forward  the  butts  of  their  new  breech-loaders  in 


THE   BAPTISM  OF  FIRE.  301 

the  peculiar  position  required  for  charging  that  weapon. 
The  enemy,  now  rapidly  advancing,  within  a  short  dis- 
tance, saw  the  movement,  and,  ignorant  of  the  purpose, 
mistook  it  for  a  sign  of  surrender,  and  shouted  in  tri- 
umph. Back  to  the  shoulder  came  the  many-charged 
rifles,  and  a  second  volley  flashed  into  the  faces  of  the 
astounded  enemy.  Again  ! — again  !  The  column  wav- 
ered, but  still  pressed  on.  Again  ! — again  ! — again  ! 
came  rhe  deadly  sirocco.  Almost  to  the  muzzles  of 
the  rifles  pressed  the  brave  Southrons,  but  the  stream 
of  fire  did  not  abate.  It  was  too  much,  that  regularly- 
recurrent  blast  of  leaden  death  among  their  crowded 
ranks  !  They  halted,  and  tried  to  return  the  fire.  But 
their  aim  was  uncertain,  and  the  volley  scattering.  Still 
the  smoking  barrels  steadily  vomited  destruction  in  their 
faces. 

"Charge!"  The  word  passed  along  the  Northern 
line  like  wildfire.  Whether  it  was  really  an  order,  or  one 
of  those  inspirations  which  sometimes  seize  upon  large 
bodies  of  men,  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine.  But 
it  was  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time.  As  the  enemy 
broke  and  fled,  the  line  sprang  up,  with  a  cheer,  and 
rushed  forward,  pursuing  them  to  the  edge  of  the  wood 
they  had  occupied.  Then  Boaz  Woodiey,  sitting  quietly 
on  his  horse,  gave  the  order  to  fall  back ;  for  the  young 
general  had  sealed  the  record  of  his  merit  with  his 
blood,  and.  was  lying  stark  and  grim"  beside  the  silenced 
guns  whose  roar  had  been  music  to  his  ears. 

The  enemy's  artillery  promptly  resumed  its  fire,  a 
part  pf  our  guns  were  drawn  off  the  field,  and  the  others 
abandoned,  as  the  unfortunate  division,  which  had  been 


302  ^-^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

saved  from  annihilation  only  by  Boaz  Woodley's  breech- 
loaders, withdrew  behind  a  line  which  had  formed  for 
their  support  a  half-mile  in  the  rear,  leaving  a  third  of 
their  number,  and  the  bodies  of  two  generals,  upon  the 
gromid  they  had  occupied.  Their  holding  the  line  had 
saved  the  day,  however,  for  Yvdien  the  enemy  advanced 
again  they  found  one  vv^iich  it  v/as  impossible  to 
break ;  and  if  our  forces  vv-hich  were  within  supporting 
distance  had  been  promptly  ordered  up,  and  the  ad- 
vance of  the  gallant  Rousseau,  later  in  the  day,  had 
been  made  a  general  one  along  the  whole  line,  as  it 
should  have  been,  instead  of  a  large  part  of  our  army 
being  held  in  reserve  for  anticipated  defeat,  the  Con- 
federate Army  of  the  Tennessee  would  have  been  hope- 
lessly shattered  on  the  hills  of  Perryville,  and  Bragg's 
invasion  of  Kentucky  would  have  met  the  fate  its'  fool- 
hardiness  deserved.* 

A  fev\^  days  afterwards,  Boaz  Woodley  resigned  the 
colonelcy  of  the  regiment  he  had  raised,  which  was 
conferred  on  Markham  Churr.  Woodley  went  on  to 
Washington  to  report  the  success  of  the  repeating 
breech-loader,  and  to  urge  its  adoption  by  the  Govern- 


*  The  above  account  of  the  action  of  Perryville  is  given  with 
literal  exactness  so  far  as  concerns  the  crushing  of  the  left  division 
of  our  army,  and  the  death  of  Generals  Jackson  and  Terrell, 
except  the  incident  of  the  first  use  of  the  Spencer  rifle,  which 
is  borrov/ed  from  the  fight  at  Hoover's  Gap,  on  June  24,  1863, 
at  which  a  regiment  of  Wilder's  brigade,  armed  with  the  weapon, 
repulsed  an  assault  in  column  of  regiment,  made  by  a  division  of  the 
Confederate  General  Hardee's  Corps.  And,  although  the  slaughter 
was  terrific,  the  repulse  was  due  mainly,  I  think,  to  the  moral  effect 
of  the  continuous  fire  after  the  enemy  had  mistaken  tlie  motion  to 
reload  for  a  siijn  of  surrender. — A.  W.  T. 


THE   BAPTISM  OF  FIRE.  303 

ment.  A  short  time  afterwards  he  was  assigned  to  duty, 
in  charge  of  that  long  line  of  raih-oad  which  for  two 
years  constituted  the  sole  channel  of  supply  for  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland. 

The  n\\\  Regiment  became  absorbed  in  the  Army 
of  the  Cumberland,  undistinguished  from  others,  save 
by  its  number,  as  the  —  Regt.,  —  Brigade,  of  the  Four- 
teenth Army  Corps.  In  the  command  of  his  regiment, 
and  subsequently  of  the  brigade  to  which  it  was  at- 
tached, Markham  Churr  not  only  won  distinction  for 
himself,  but  shared  the  honors  which  clustered  around 
the  victorious  army  to  which  it  belonged.  They  shared 
in  its  labors,  marches,  skirmishes,  and  battles — the  relief 
of  beleaguered  Nashville,  the  rebuilding  of  the  shattered 
road,  the  dogged  struggle  at  Stone  River,  and  the  move- 
ment- upon  Tullahoma — until,  when  almost  a  year  had 
elapsed,  the  ground  lost  by  "  Bragg's  invasion"  had  been 
regained,  and  the  Federal  forces  swarmed  over  mountain 
and  river  in  a  counter-movement  upon   the  same  line. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

RESTITUTION. 

IT  was  the  night  of  the  eighteenth  of  September,  1863. 
The  Army  of  the  Cumberland  was  straining  every 
nerve  to  put  itself  between  the  united  hosts  of  Bragg 
and  Longstreet  and  the  town  of  Chattanooga,  the  late- 
v/on  prize  of  a  campaign  which  had  promised  the  most 


304  ^^'^^  ^^'^    THISTLES. 

brilliant  results  at  the  outset,  as  if  to  make  its  dubious 
conclusion  only  the  more  disheartening.  So  it  vras  not 
more  a  question  of  pro\ve5S  than  of  speed. 

All  day  long,  the  Federal  host  had  been  pushing 
forward  among  the  rugged  hills,  by  the  circling  country 
roads,  through  field  and  forest,  in  the  desperate  en- 
deavor to  save  the  city  which  was  itself  the  prize  of 
the  campaign,  as  well  as  the  fruits  of  tv/o  preceding 
campaigns,  and  to  protect  the  region  lying  beyond  the 
Ohio  River  from  invasion. 

The  day  had  opened  brightly,  but,  as  it  drew  toward 
its  close,  a  dull,  gray  sky  frowned  down  upon  them,  and 
a  cold,  raw  wind  blew  from  the  northwest.  The  army 
did  not  halt  at  nightfall,  but  still  pushed  on.  Nov/  and 
then  the  overtasked  road  w^ould  become  choked  by  the 
mere  press  of  the  thronging  thousands,  or  the  breaking 
of  an  axle,  or  other  accident  to  the  train,  and  there 
would  be  a  few  moments'  delay.  The  soldiers,  trained 
by  many  campaigns,  would  fall  from  their  places  v/ith- 
out  waiting  for  orders,  and  rest  upon  the  roadside. 
Some  of  these  halts  had  been  long  enough  for  those 
improvised  meals  which  an  old  campaigner  prepares 
and  disposes  of  with  such  celerity.  As  the  night  came 
on,  the  air  grew  colder,  and  where  the  halts  were  made 
fires  began  to  glimmer.  A  fallen  tree  or  a  roadside 
fence  furnished  excellent  material,  and  around  them 
grouped  the  v/aiting  soldiery.  The  light  gleamed  on  lum- 
bering cannon;  nodding  troopers;  straggling  infantry, 
with  their  shining  rubber  capotes  about  their  shoulders ; 
dashing  aides  and  busy  couriers,  who  came  out  of  the 
darkness — their  horses  shying  at  the  firelight,  or  shrink- 


2^£S  TITU  y  'ION.  305 

ing  from  embers  which  scorched  their  hoofs — and  then 
swept  on  in  anxious  search  for  those  to  whom  their 
orders  were  addressed.  There  was  nothing  secret  about 
the  march.  Each  army  knew  that  the  other  was  on  the 
move,  and  also  that  the  pass  to  Chattanooga,  through 
the  hills  that  make  the  southern  brim  of  the  basin  in 
which  the  Tennessee  flows,  was  the  objective  point  of 
both.  After  a  time,  some  one  began  to  sing,  and  the 
"Battle-Crv  of  Freedom"  rang  out  from  thousands  who 
had  "rallied  round  the  flag"  in  its  hour  of  peril.  "John 
Brown"  marched  through  the  hills  of  Georgia  that  night 
with  thousands  who  never  marched  again  on  earth. 

With  this  army  was  the  regiment  of  Markham  Churr. 

At  one  point,  where  the  road  passed  through  an 
open  field  devoid  of  anything  combustible,  the  lines  of 
fire  v.'ere  intermitted,  and  the  gloom  of  the  gray,  bleak 
night  seemed  all  the  greater  from  contrast  with  the  . 
illumination  which  they  had  just  passed  through.  To 
those  who  have  never  experienced  the  sudden  changes 
of  this  climate,  it  would  have  seemed  incredible  that 
the  shivering  men  who  crept  slowly  along  upon  this 
midnight  march  with  chattering  teeth,  seeking  every 
means  to  avoid  the  cold  or  forget  it,  would  suffer  as 
much  with  heat  upon  the  morrow,  and  on  the  second 
day  thereafter  would  faint  beneath  the  sultry  sun,  upon 
the  battle-field. 

At  the  gloomiest  point  upon  the  road,  a  solitary 
man,  closely  vi'rapped  in  a  soldier's  overcoat,  sat  on  a 
horse  by  the  roadside  and  inquired  anxiously  as  each 
regiment  passed : 

"  What  regiment  is  this  ?" 


3o6  F^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

He  received  various  answers,  for  the  soldier  is  fre- 
quently a  droll,  and  not  seldom  a  blackguard. 

"Company  Q,"  one  would  say;  "  Rosey's  pets," 
anotlier  would  add;  "Brown's  Racers,"  said  another, 
in  allusion  to  a  brigade  of  infantry  which  had  been  sent 
to  catch  John  Morgan's  cavalry  some  months  before. 

The  inquirer  paid  no  heed  to  this  fire  of  good- 
natured  badinage,  aimed  principally  at  ea'ch  other  by 
the  passing  soldiers,  being  always  sure  of  a  correct 
answer  to  his  question  before  the  fusilade  was  ended. 

At  length,  he  was  answered,  as  the  head  of  a  regi- 
ment appeared  : 

"The  ;/th  Ohio." 

"Is  Colonel  Churr  with  it  now.?'* 

"Here,"  answered  Markham,  as  he  drew  rein  to- 
wards the  solitary  horseman. 

"Can  I  have  a  moment's  conversation  with  you, 
sir.^"  asked  the  stranger,  in  an  anxious  tone. 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Will  you  call  one  of  your  men  to  hold  our  horses 
a  moment.?"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  dismounted. 

Markham  did  as  requested,  and  when  they  had 
walked  a  few  paces  from  the  roadside,  the  stranger 
pointed  to  a  pile  of  rocks,  and  said,  with  easy  familiarity: 

"  Let  us  sit  down.  You  smoke,  I  believe  ?"  offering 
a  case  of  excellent  cigars. 

It  is  strange  what  a  sense  of  comradeship  this  simple 
act  produced.  Markham  could  have  sworn  that  liis 
vis-a-vis  was  an  officer,  and  a  gentleman,  though  the 
murky  night  hid  every  glimpse  of  his  face,  and  the  great 
cavalry  overcoat  effectually  concealed  his  rank. 


RESTITUTIOX.  307 

Then,  handing  Markham  a  match,  the  stranger 
said : 

"Wait  till  I  put  my  hat  over  my  saber-hilt,  and  we 
may  get  a  light,  in  spite  of  the  wind." 

Bringing  his  sheathed  sword  around  to  the  front, 
and  covering  the  hilt  with  his  hat,  he  extended  it  to- 
wards Markham,  who  drew  the  match  upon  the  rough, 
shark-skin  hilt.  He  noticed  that  the  weapon  was  fintly- 
mounted  and  of  exquisite  finish.  He  had  barely  lighted 
his  cigar,  when  the  hat  was  withdrawn,  and  the  match 
extinguished  before  he  could  make  any  further  observa- 
tion of  his   companion. 

When  his  cigar  was  fully  lighted,  he  proffered  it  to 
his  companion,  who  remarked : 

"Thank  you.  I  will  not  light  now.  It  will  be  in- 
cumbent on  me  to  do  most  of  the  talking,  while  you 
will  only  have  to  listen." 

"I  presume  you  do  not  know  me,  Colonel  Churr.^" 
he  continued. 

Markham  replied  that,  while  his  voice  seemed  fa- 
miliar, he  could  not  qXiite  distinguish  to  whom  it  be- 
lohged. 

"  If  it  were  not  essential  to  my  purpose  in  seeking 
this  interview,  I  should  not  disclose  it  at  this  time," 
said  his  companion. 

"  Is  it — can  it  be?"  said  Markham,  as  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  tried  to  peer  into  the  stranger's  face. 

"  Yes,  Markham  Churr,  I  did  not  hope  to  deceive 
you,  though  I  wish  I  might  remain  unrecognized.  I  am 
P'rank   Horton." 

Markham  grasped  his  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 


3o8  ^^CtS  axd  thistles. 

"There  is  no  one  whom  it  would  give  me  mora 
pleasure  to  meet,"  he  said,  with  earnestness. 

"I  do  not  know  why,"  said  Horton,  with  something 
of  sadness  and  incredulity  mingled  in  his  voice. 

"Because,"  answered  Markham,  "I  was  afraid  you 
would  throw  away  a  future  which  might  easily  be  made 
to  atone  for  the  past." 

"And  how  do  you  know  that  I  have  not  done  so?" 

*'It  would  be  hard  to  say,"  replied  Markham,  "but 
there  is  something  about  your  tone  and  manner  which 
convinces  one  that  your  life  has  been  creditable." 

"  Yes,  a  soldier's  life  is  an  honorable  one,  and  I  have 
tried  to  do  my  duty,  even  in  the  ranks,"  said  Horton. 

"  But  you  are  not  a  private,"  said  Markham.  "  The 
ease  and  self-possession  you  exhibit  are  the  sure  evi- 
dences of  rank  and  authority.  I  am  too  old  a  soldier 
to  be  mistaken  in  this.  I  venture  to  say,  too,  that  I  am 
addressing  my  equal,  perhaps  my  superior,  in  rank." 

"Colonel  Churr,"  said  Horton,  earnestly,  "what  I 
am,  or  with  what  branch  of  the  service  I  am  connected, 
I  do  not  wish  at  this  time  to  disclose,  and  am  sure  that 
you  are  too  honorable  to  ask  me  or  to  seek  to  discover. 
I  have  sought  this  interview  for  the  purpose  of  asking 
you  a  favor." 

"  You  know  that  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  serve  you, 
in  any  manner  that  may  be  in  my  power,"  said  Mark- 
ham, quickly. 

"  I  have  never  once  doubted  your  readiness  to  do 
so.  My  desire  now,  is,  through  you,  to  begin  the  work 
of  reparation.  When  the  war  broke  out,  almost  at  the 
time  of  the  discovery  of  my  guilt,  it  struck  me  as  afford- 


RESTITUTION.  309 

ing  a  providential  opportunity  for  redeeming  my  error. 
I  accordingly  entered  the  service  under  an  assumed 
name,  which  I  have  not  hitherto  dishonored  and  hope 
I  never  may.  As  soon  as  I  had  broken  away  from  my 
old  associations,  and  came  to  consider  my  act  without 
the  color  which  they  gave  it,  I  was  horrified  at  myself. 
I  had  been  ashamed  before,  but  now  I  regarded  myself 
with  utter  loathing.  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  lived 
— could  have  endured  the  contemplation  of  my  own 
infamy — had  not  the  hope  and  determination  to  repair 
so  far  as  possible  the  injury  I  had  done,  come  as  a 
stimulus  to  exertion.  Of  course,  I  know  that  I  can 
never  remove  the  stain  v/hich  I  have  put  upon  my 
name,  or  compensate  my  father  for  the  suffering  my 
act  has  cost  him,  but  I  can  make  good  the  loss,  and, 
perhaps,  gain  another  name,  which  I  may  not  be 
ashamed  to  bear,  or  he  to  recognize  as  that  of  his  son. 
For  this  I  have  toiled  constantly.  You  would  be  sur- 
prised to  know  how  little  of  my  pay  I  have  expended 
since  my  name  was  first  written  on  a  muster-roll.  Be- 
sides, I  have  used  some  of  my  earnings  to  such  good 
advantage  that  they  have  brought  me  many  times  the 
original  investment.  So  that  I  am  able  to-night  to 
replace  all  that  I  used  of  the  money  I  took  from  the 
bank,  with  interest,  to  the  present  time.  Here,"  said 
he,  handing  Markham  a  packet,  "is  a  sealed  package, 
which  I  wish  you  to  transmit  to  Boaz  Woodley,  when- 
ever you  have  an  opportunity.  It  contains  a  check  for 
the  amount,  on  bankers  in  New  York,  where  the  money 
to  meet  it  is  on  deposit.  We  are  going  to  have  rough 
work  in  a  short  time,  and  I  could  not  think  of  going 


3IO  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

into  another  battle  and  leaving  this  undone.  I  shall 
fight  better,  and,  if  called  upon,  die  easier,  for  this  act." 

"But  you  know  that  Colonel  Woodley  is  connected 
with  the  army,  I  suppose,"  said  Markham. 

"Yes,"  answered  Horton,  "I  know  that  he  has. 
charge  of  the  transportation  of  the  Department,  but  I 
do  not  care  to  have  him  know  that  I  am  in  it.  I  can 
trust  to  your  honor  and  charity,  but  Boaz  Woodley 
might  not  be  willing  to  grant  my  request  for  silence." 

"  He  would,  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  affair  of  the 
cash-box,"  said  Markham. 

"The  cash-box!"  said  Horton,  "well,  I  am  sorry  I 
took  it.  He  ought  to  know  that,  but  he  has  no  real 
ground  of  complaint.  He  did  not  lose  anything.  I 
took  the  box  and  buried  it  without  even  opening  it. 
It  may  have  been  inconvenient,  but  I  do  not  see  how 
he  could  have  been  injured  seriously  by  that.  I  sup- 
pose you  found  it  in  good  condition  where  I  told  you 
to  dig  for  it.^" 

"We  did  not  find  it  there  at  all,"  answered  Mark- 
ham, coolly. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Horton,  "did  not  find  it  at  all.? 
Did  you  dig  where  I  dircted.''" 

"We  dug  as  you  directed." 

"  Under  the  second  bush  from  the  east  end  of  the 
row.'*" 

"Yes." 

"And  found—.?" 

"  Nothing." 

"Found  nothing.?" 

"Nothing!" 


RESTITUTIOy. 


311 


"Did  you  search  thoroughly?" 

''  You  ought  to  know  that  I  would  not  be  apt  to 
abandon  such  an  investigation  lightly." 

*'  No,  indeed!  And  \ou  did  not  find  it?"  said  Hor- 
ton,  in  a  voice  of  horror.     "What  did  it  contain?" 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  in  bank  bills,  and  valuable 
papers,"  said  Markham. 

"My  God  !"  cried  Horton,  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
walking  back  and  forth,  with  his  hands  clasping  his 
head.  "Can  I  never  get  clear  of  this  infamy?  And 
you  and  Woodley — perhaps  even  my  father — think  that 
I  have  taken  the  money,  and  that  the  statement  I  sent 
you  Avas  a  deliberate  falsehood.  I  swear  to  you,  Mark- 
ham  Churr,"  said  he,  turning  impetuously  towards 
him — "I  swear  to  you  on  the  honor  of  one  who  may 
meet  a  soldier's  fate  to-morrow — yes,"  said  he,  quickly 
drav\-ing  his  sword  and  laying  it  in  Markham's  open 
palm,  "  I  swear  to  you  by  this  blade,  which  bears  the 
name  of  a  dozen  hard-fought  fields,  on  every  one  of 
which  it  has  won  honor  and  nev'er  known  disgrace,  that 
I  never  opened  that  box  and  never  saw  it  after  1  buried 
it,  as  detailed  in  my  letter,  and  I  supposed  it  to  be  still 
there  when  I  wrote  to  you.  Some  one  has  stolen  it  from 
the  tliief !  Well,  Colonel  Churr,  I  thought  I  should  be 
ready  to  die,  when  next  I  went  under  fire,  with  the  as- 
surance that  I  had  made  restitution  for  my  offence,  but 
I  see  i  am  still  ten  thousand  dollars  short.  The  prop- 
erty which  I  assigned  to  my  father  will  some  time  pay 
it  off.  I  suppose  he  has  not  realized  from  it  yet?"  lie 
asked,  anxiously. 

"  J  do  not  know,"  said  Markham.     "  Before  we  came 


312 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


out  a  year  ago,  I  learned  that  he  had  leased  a  part  of 
it  to  a  company,  who  were  engage'd  in  developing 
it" 

"And  you  have  heard  nothing  of  the  resuJt?  You 
know  nothing  of  what  they  have  done?"  asked  Horton, 
eagerly. 

"  I  heard  they  had  struck  oil." 

"Ah!"  breathlessly. 

"Yes,  a  remarkable  flow." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes.  Did  you  not  know  that  the  great  Columbian 
well  was  on  the  McCormick  property.?" 

"  The  great  Columbian,  that  flowed  four  hundred 
barrels  a  day.?" 

"The  same." 

"  Then,"  he  cried,  with  an  accent  of  relief,  "  my 
father  can  well  afford   to   pay  Woodley  what  he  lost!" 

"Very  well.  He  is  one  of  the  great  oil  magnates 
now.  I  suppose  a  millionnaire,  or  something  near  it.  If 
it  v/ere  necessary  he  would  do  it  cheerfully." 

"If  it  were  necessary!     Has  he  already  done  so?" 

"There  was  nothing  to  pay.  We  recovered  the 
money,  and  all  the  box  contained,  except  one  paper, 
which  I  suspect  had  nothing  more  than  a  sentimental 
or  fanciful  value  at  best." 

Markham  then  gave  his  companion  an  account  of 
what  had  occurred  in  relation  to  the  box,  and  acknowl- 
edged that  he  had  taken  the  course  he  had,  in  tlie  con- 
versation, to  reassure  himself  as  to  Frank's  ignorance 
of  its  removal.  He  was  now  fully  satisfied  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  matter,  and  was  happy  to  inform 


RESTITUTION.  313 

him  that  every  loss,  except  the  one  mentioned,  had  been 
made  good.  As  he  said  this,  he  returned  him  the 
package,  which  he  had  been  holding  while  they  talked, 
and  urged  upon  him  to  resume  his  name  and  abandon 
the  idea  of  hiding  from  a  fault  which  had  already  been 
amply  expiated. 

''No,"  said  Horton,  sadly,  "I  cannot  do  it.  As 
Frank  Horton  I  am  forever  disgraced.  Under  my 
prese«t  name,  I  am  equal  in  honorable  repute  to  the 
proudest.  What  you  have  told  me  gives  me  inexpress- 
ible pleasure.  I  can  die  now  v/ith  the  feeling  that  my 
crime  has  wrought  no  man's  injury  but  my  own.  I  will 
take  the  check,"  he  added,  lightly,  "  for  it  will  help  to 
bury  Frank  Horton.  I  hope  it  may  be  my  lot  to  die 
before  my  identity  is  discovered,  however.  You  cannot 
imagine  how  long  I  have  struggled  to  harden  myself 
for  this  interview.  I  have  tried  to  meet  you  a  thousand 
times,  but  do  not  believe  I  should  have  succeeded  even 
now,  had  not  this  night's  march  afforded  an  opportunity 
and  the  prospect  of  desperate  work  rendered  it  impera- 
tive that  I  should  delay  no  longer.  Now  that  it  is 
over,  I  have  only  to  ask  that  you  will  forget  that  it  has 
occurred.  If  you  should  see  my  father,  you  may  tell 
him  that  you  saw  me;  nothing  more,  please." 

"And  Colonel  Woodley.^"  asked  Markham. 

"  Tell  Colonel  Woodley  as  much  as  you  may  choose 
to  disclose — upon  condition  that  he  promise  you  that  he 
will  not  attempt  to  penetrate  my  disguise." 

"You  need  have  no  fear,"  said  Markham.  "I  can 
answer  for  him.  I  am  sure  that  he  will  regard  your 
wishes." 


314  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Horton ;  "  Boaz  Woodley  is 
not  given  to  changing  his  purposes." 

"  Then  he  shall  hear  nothing  from  me,"  said  Mark- 
ham. 

"  That  I  do  not  doubt.  But  your  cigar  is  out. 
Have  another,"  said  he,  handing  him  his  case.  "And 
novv'  I  must  go."  He  extended  his  hand  to  Markham, 
who  clasped  it  closely,  and,  detaining  him,  said  : 

"Ought  you  not  to  tell  me  the  name  you  bear,  in 
order  that  your  family  and  friends  may  know  should 
you  fall  ?" 

"I  have  provided  for  that,"  he  replied,  hurriedly. 
"  You  may  tell  my  father  that,  should  I  die,  I  have 
arranged  to  have  my  will  forwarded  to  him.  It  is 
already  executed,  and  deposited  in  safe  hands  in  a 
Northern  city." 

They  walked  back  towards  their  horses,  hand  in 
hand,  but  silent  until  they  had  nearly  reached  them. 
Then  Markham  said  : 

"  Have  you  no  v/ord  for  Amy  Levis  or  your  mother.^" 
.  "Don't!  don't,  Markham!"  he  exclaimed,  withdraw- 
ing his  hand,  and  repressing  a  great  sob.  "  Yet,  let  me 
ask  one  question.     Do  they  know  of  my  offence  ?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Nor  suspect  it.?" 

"  No  more,  I  think,  than  if  you   had   never  lived." 

"Then  they  shall  not  until  I  am  dead.  If  you  ever 
hear  of  that — you  will  know  it — my  father  will  know  it 
• — tell  them  I  loved  them  too  well  to  look  on  their  faces 
again." 

They  mounted,  and  rode  together  until  Markham's 


RESTlTUriOy.  ^j^ 

regiment  was  overtaken.  Then  they  shook  hands  again, 
and  Frank  Horton  galloped  on  to  his  own  place  in  the 
column,  which  moved  steadily  forward  to  the  pLim 
where  so  many  were  soon  to  be  gathered  to  the  harvest 
of  death.  Markham  listened  to  the  regular  hoof-strokes, 
as  his  recent  companion  galloped  away  over  the  sound- 
ing pike,  and  wondered  what  was  the  place  in  that 
column  which  his  old  acquaintance  occupied,  and  to 
Vv-hich  he  sped  on  in  the  dull  night. 

The  next  morning,  as  his  wearied  regiment  filed 
into  position  in  the  line  of  battle  which  was  forming 
upon  the  bank  of  the  Chickamauga,  a  body  of  cavalry 
dashed  by  at  full  speed,  going  towards  the  point  vrhere 
it  was  said  the  enemy  were  crossing  the  stream.  Just 
as  ttiey  were  passing  around  a  curve  in  the  wood,  he 
happened  to  glance  towards  the  cavalcade,  and  saw  the 
officer  who  rode  in  front  rise  in  his  stirrups  and,  lock- 
ing back  towards  him,  wave  a  bright  blade  in  salutation, 
and  heard  a  voice  shout:  "Good-bye!"  He  looked 
around  to  ascertain  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but  could 
see  no  one.  His  own  regiment  was  lying  in  the  woods  in 
front,  and  only  his  own  form  could  have  been  visible  to 
the  trooper  v/hen  he  shouted  back  a  farewell  from  the 
jaws  of  battle.  He  wondered,  carelessly,  who  it  was 
that  had  bestowed  perhaps  his  last  greeting  upon  him, 
and  whether  it  was  an  acquaintance  or  a  stranger.  A 
fire  along  his  own  front  called  his  attention  from  the 
matter  before  he  could  collect  his  thoughts,  and  it  was 
not  till  several  weeks  afterwards  that  it  occurred  to  him 
that  the  voice  he  then  heard  was  the  one  to  which  he 
had  listened  the  night  before. 


CHAPTER    XXX VI I L 

KING    CAUCUS. 

WHILE  the  army  carried  the  flag  of  the  nation 
into  the  heart  of  the  revolted  country,  a  battle 
was  going  on  in  the  rear  which  was  hardly  less  in- 
teresting or  important — the  ever-recurring  struggle  of 
parties — the  question  as  to  who  should  rule  the  country 
for  which  the  army  fought, 

Markham  Churr,  in  his  tent  before  Atlanta,  thought 
but  little  of  this  struggle  which  was  impending,  and 
not  at  all  as  of  a  matter  personally  concerning  himself. 
But  there  was  one  who  thought  for  him,  and  who, 
before  the  summer  campaign  opened,  had  determined 
that  the  young  soldier  should  in  the  autumn  be  trans- 
ferred to  another  field  of  action.  This  was  the  Chief 
of  Railroad  Transportation. 

At  this  time  a  convention  was  held  for  the  purpose 
of  nominating  a  candidate  to  represent  the  ;/th  District 
in  the  next  Co'ngress, 

The  American  mind  is  nothing  unless  inventive;  and 
it  is  not  in  the  material  world  alone  that  this  attribute 
is  displayed.  The  American  nation,  from  its  first  estab- 
lishment, has  been  a  series  of  startling  inventions.  The 
intimate  and  yet  undetermined  relations  of  the  State 
v^^ith  the  General  Government;  the  form  of  that  Gov- 
ernment itself;  the  marvelous  system  of  municipal  cor- 
316 


KIXG   CAUCUS.  217 

porations,  known   as   towns   or  townships,  which  over- 
spread the  States,  are  all  fruits  of  that  inventive  faculty 
for    which    our    people    are    so   justly    celebrated.     But 
neither  these  wonderfully  interlocked  and  related   sys- 
tems; nor  the  financial  and  political  schemes  by  which 
they    have    been    put    in    operation    and    successfully 
worked ;  nor  the  fact  that  we  have  made  the  beasts  of 
the  field   both  sow  and  reap,  as  well  as  plow,  for  us; 
ncr  that  v/e  have  oddly  contrived  to  sew  and  knit  with 
our   feet   rather   than   our   hands ;    that  we   have   taken 
from  Eolus  the  kingship  of  the  deep,  and  given  it  to 
the  im.p  who   tilted  the  lid  of  the   kettle  for  so  many 
centuries  without  detection ;   nor  yet  any  other  marvel 
of  Yankee  cunning,  surpasses  in  beauty,  and  fitness  for 
the  purpose  it  was  designed  to  accomplish,  that  purely 
American  institution — the   Caucus.     From   the  brain  of 
what  subtle  political  schemer  this  splendid  mechanism 
w^as  evolved  we  are  not  informed.     It  smacks  somewhat 
of  the  restless  fertility  of  Hamilton;  but  he  was  not  a 
man  to  leave  so  brilliant  a  device  to  reach  efflorescence 
under  the  fostering  care  of  another.     There  is  an  elastic 
simplicity   about    it,  too,  which    emphatically   negatives 
that  hypothesis  of  its  origin.     It  would   have   been  as 
intricate  as  the  ring-puzzles  of  the  Chinese  if  he  had 
devised   it.     It   has   taken   such    universal    root  that  it 
must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  spontaneous  outgrowths 
of  our  governmental  system,  which  the  inventor,  if  he 
may  be   so   styled,  was  first  keen   enough    to  discover 
and  adapt  to  his  purposes  and  the  needs  of  future  gen- 
erations of  designing  aspirants.     Perhaps  the  first  indi- 
cations of  its  existence  were  in  the  early  years  of  the 


3i8  PIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

Tammany  Society,  as  its  most  perfect  illustrations  are 
said  to  have  been  found  in  the  later  years  of  that  order. 
No,  not  its  most  perfect;  for  this  system,  which  has  been 
the  instrument  of  so  great  political  enormities,  is  but 
the  germ  of  that  most  beautiful  and  eifective  arrange- 
ment, already  partially  in  operation — the  system  of  pre- 
liminary elections,  by  which  the  candidate  receiving  a 
majority  of  the  votes  of  his  party  becomes  its  candi- 
date. 

However,  no  such  millennial  idea  was  operative  in 
1864.  King  Caucus  ruled  in  undisturbed  absolutism 
still.  The  halcyon  days  of  the  political  trickster  had 
not  yet  become  overcast.  The  politician  who  was  the 
actual  choice  of  only  a  tithe  of  his  party,  or  who  was 
even  unknown  to  a  large  majority  of  the  constituency 
he  sought  to  represent,  had  still  an  opportunity  of 
causing  himself  to  be  enthusiastically  declared  their 
chosen  standard-bearer,  in  the  place  of  men  far  more 
popular  and  capable  than  he.  How  much  more  pliable 
is  the  will  of  the  sovereign  when  expressed  by  a  repre- 
sentative than  when  uttered  by  the  sovereign  him.self! 
A  constituency  of  higii-principled,  strong-willed,  intelli- 
gent voters,  who  would  never  dream  of  selecting  other 
than  an  incorruptible,  far-seeing  man  to  represent  them 
in  a  conflict  of  principle  with  their  opponents,  by  means 
of  the  mysterious  agencies  which  King  Caucus  has  at 
his  command,  may  be  so  managed,  and  their  vrill  and 
v.'ish  so  perverted,  as  to  be  made  to  select  and  support 
an  unknown  trickster  in  his  stead.  Twenty  thousand 
voters  could  not  possibly  be  corrupted.  One  or  two 
hundred   fallible   men,  even    if  they  be  of  the  best,  are 


KIXG   CAUCUS.  319 

almost  sure  to  afford  opportunity  to  the  demagogue. 
There  is  always  some  angle  at  which  the  delegate  may 
be  attacked  at  a  disadvantage  both  to  his  previous 
intentions  and  his  good  resolutions.  Not  unfrequently, 
the  very  strength  of  his  attachment  to  a  good  man  is 
made  the  means  of  securing  his  support  for  a  bad  one. 
The  caucus  is  to  the  scheming,  unscrupulous  politician 
only  a  field  for  the  display  of  his  peculiar  gifts;  while 
to  the  statesman  of  merit,  principle,  and  modesty  it 
is  the  ordeal  from  which  he  shrinks  with  insuperable 
aversion.  That  the  greed,  ambition,  prejudice  or  stu- 
pidity of  a  set  of  delegates  should  be  made  as  impor- 
tant factors  in  the  selection  of  a  candidate  as  the  fitness 
or  unfitness  of  the  candidate  himself,  is  an  idea  utterly 
repulsive  and  dispiriting  to  any  man  worthy  of  pre- 
ferment. However  pure  and  upright  he  may  be,  he 
cannot  help  feeling  himself  belittled,  to  an  extent  that 
few  can  bear  without  impairing  their  worthiness,  to 
know  that  the  place  to  which  he  aspires  with  the  purest 
ambition  is  made  the  price  of  intrigue,  or  perhaps  put 
up  at  alm.ost  open  barter — to  know  that  his  own  merits 
are  to  be  balanced  in  this  struggle  for  preferment 
against  the  art  of  the  demagogue  or  the  purse  of  the 
millionnaire. 

But  Caucus  was  king  at  Lanesville.  The.  convention 
met,  and  he  stood  behind  the  chair  and  directed  the  eye 
and  wielded  the  gavel  of  the  chairman.  He  sat  with 
the  committees,  and  deliberated  in  mock  solemnity  with 
the  delegates. 

The  question,  who  should  represent  the  district  in 
the  next  Congress  during  the  ensuing  duennium  was  lo 


320  fJG^  -^-'^^^    THISTLES. 

be  decided  here.  The  election  which  was  to  come 
afterwards  was  but  a  farce.  The  district  was  sure  to 
ratify  the  choice  of  the  convention.  Never  since  the 
State  was  organized  had  one  of  the  Opposition  been 
elected  from  that  district.  The  majority  was  overwhelm- 
ing, so  much  so  as  usually  to  prevent  even  an  attempt 
at  electing  one  of  the  other  party.  Some  martyr  to  the 
party  faith  was,  it  is  true,  biennially  given  the  compli- 
ment of  a  nomination  by  the  few  faithful  ones  who  were 
still  found  in  that  benighted  region,  but  the  man  thus 
selected  for  temporary  and  uncertain  distinction  never 
troubled  himself  about  the  election.  He  wasted  neither 
time  nor  money  in  a  vain  attempt  to  stem  the  current  of 
public  thought — and  as  to  bolters,  wherever  else  they 
may  be  found,  they  were  not  there.  Through  all  the 
long  battle  with  Slavery  in  the  halls  of  legislation,  the 
truest  of  the  true,  in  constant  and  unswerving  oppo- 
sition to  its  encroachment,  was  this  very  region.  Time 
after  time,  it  sent  to  its  place  in  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives men  whose  names  will  go  down  in  history 
as  the  staunchest  and  boldest  of  the  Spartan  band  who 
from  the  first  had  withstood  its  aggressions.  This  had 
for  many  years  been  the  one  pre-requisite  for  the  place. 
He  who  could  best  fight  this  battle,  whatever  his  other 
attributes,  was  sure  of  his  election  and  re-election  so 
long  as  he  maintained  this  pre-eminence. 

But  this  test  no  longer  applied.  Who  could  do 
most  to  encourage,  carry  on  and  promote  the  success 
of  the  war  .^  was  the  inquiry  which  succeeded  it.  The 
friends  of  every  one  who  hoped  for  anything  from  tlie 
action  of  the  convention  magnified  the  capacity  of  their 


KING   CAUCUS.  321 

favorite  in  this  respect,  regarding  it,  as  indeed  it  was, 
the  sine  qua  non  of  their  success. 

There  were  three  distinct  and  antagonistic  elements 
in  this  convention,  of  which  it  is  necessary  to  take 
account  before  describing  its  action.  The  first  was 
composed  of  personal  friends  and  adherents  of  the 
present  incumbent,  who  sought  a  re-election.  The  sec- 
ond consisted  of  the  particular  friends  of  the  repre- 
sentative who  had  been  displaced  by  the  present  one. 
The  third  was  a  new  faction,  which  had  for  its  object 
and  purpose  the  nomination  of  Mr.  Latham,  who  had 
designedly  been  very  active  in  making  speeches  favoring 
the  war-policy  and  the  furnishing  of  troops  and  supplies. 
He  had  been  the  favorite  orator  on  such  occasions,  and 
was  always  on  hand  when  speeches  were  to  be  made  to 
obtain  recruits,  or  any  other  v/orthy  service  to  be  per- 
formed for  the  cause  he  had  espoused.  It  is  true,  his 
mind  had  not  that  practical  cast  which  was  needful  to 
make  him  valuable  as  an  organizer  in  such  a  struggle; 
and,  though  neither  he  himself  nor  any  of  his  sons  had 
done  the  nation  any  service  beyond  his  eloquent  appeals 
to  sluggi.ih  patriotism  in  her  behalf,  yet  it  vras  admitted 
by  all  that  he  had  done  what  he  could,  and  it  was  cer- 
tain that  he  was  highly  regarded  by  the  war-party  of 
his  district  and  State.  This  regard  was  not  at  all  les- 
sened by  the  consideration  that  for  many  years  he  had 
been  considered  the  most  accomplished  and  able  orator 
that  his  party  had,  and  the  recollection  that  during  this 
period  he  had  many  times  been  an  applicant  for  nomi- 
nation to  the  candidacy  for  various  positions  of  trust 
and  profit,  and  had  always  failed  before  the  convention. 


32  2  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

He  was  regarded  as  one  who  scorned  the  arts  of  the 
demagogue,  and,  if  the  voice  of  the  people  could  have 
been  directly  heard,  would  no  doubt  have  been  the 
choice  of  three-fourths  of  his  party.  Indeed,  it  v\'as 
generally  believed  that  the  tide  of  his  ill-fortune  was 
about  to  change,  and  that  he  would  easily  get  the  nom- 
ination on  about  the  third  ballot. 

There  was,  hov>'ever,  another  element  in  the  con- 
vention which  none  of  the  contestants  had  counted 
upon  meeting  there,  and  the  presence  of  which  none 
regarded  as  of  importance  until  resistance  was  too  late 
to  be  effectual. 

This  presence  was  Colonel  Boaz  Woodley,  still  Chief 
of  Railroad  Transportation  for  the  Western  Department, 
but  lately  from  the  seat  of  hostilities,  and  still  later  from 
the  capital  of  the  nation.  His  full  figure,  rich  but  mod- 
est uniform,  the  two  silver  eagles,  of  far  less  than  regu- 
lation size,  outspread  upon  a  field  of  soft  blue  velvet 
on  his  ponderous  shoulders,  would  have  made  him  a 
marked  figure  in  any  assemblage.  But  Boaz  V\'oodley 
had  lifted  himself  above  his  former  level  to  an  aston- 
ishing eminence  since  our  story  began.  He-  had  not 
only  entered  the  army  at  the  very  first,  and  done  himself 
credit  in  the  ]DOsition  to  which  he  had  been  assigned, 
making  himself  a  name  and  a  reputation  of  which  all 
his  old  acquaintances  and  friends — and  there  were  few 
in  tlie  ;/th  District  vrho  were  not  the  one  or  the  other — 
were  deservedly  proud,  but  he  had  done  two  other 
things  which  had  wonderfully  endeared  him  to  the 
hearts  of  a  people  proverbially  impatient  of  shams  and 
of  the  ordinary  means  of  seeking  preferment.     The  first 


KING   CAUCUS.  323 

of  these  acts  was  to  decline  promotion.  When  the 
President  had  tendered  him  the  commission  of  a  brig- 
adier-general, accompanied  with  a  letter  of  appreciative 
congratulation,  he  had  returned  the  commission,  asking 
to  keep  the  letter,  and  giving  as  a  reason  for  his  course 
that,  while  quite  assured  of  his  ability  to  serve  his  coun- 
try in  the  position  which  he  held,  he  feared  that  the 
higher  rank  which  was  offered  to  him  might  impose 
duties  for  which  he  was  not  so  well  fitted,  and  which, 
at  his  time  of  life,  he  was  not  likely  to  thoroughly  learn. 

Another  thing  which  had  wonderfully  endeared  him 
to  all,  was  the  fact  that  he  had  been  a  sort  of  military 
god-father  to  all  the  boys  in  blue  who  had  gone  from 
his  old  home  and  the  adjoining  counties.  He  had 
secured  their  rights,  redressed  their  wrongs,  and  looked 
after  their  comfort,  till  he  had  conie  to  be  regarded  as 
a  sort  of  supplementary  commander-in-chief  of  the 
troops  from  his  State,  with  purely  beneficent  pov/ers 
and  intentions.  He  was  looked  to  as  the  procurer  of 
advancement  by  the  gallant  and  ambitious,  and  as  the 
avenger  of  innocence  by  those  who  suffered  oppression 
from  the  brief  authority  conferred  by  ranking  shoulder- 
straps  upon  those  whom  military  courtesy  styles  "su- 
periors." 

But  neither  of  these  facts  accounted  for  the  surprise 
aird  consternation  which  his  presence  excited  among  the 
contending  factions.  There  was  another  fact  which 
did :  Boaz  Woodley  had  never  been  seen  in  a  nomi- 
nating convention  before  in  his  life.  Each  faction 
feared  his  influence,  and  took  immediate  measures  to 
ascertain  his    views    and    aspirations.      They   might   as 


324  ^^^-^  ^^^^    THISTLES. 

well  have  tried  to  quiz  the  Sphinx.  Before  the  hour  of 
assembling  had  arrived,  he  had  learned  the  strength  and 
prospects  of  each  faction,  and  had  instilled  a  sort  of 
discontent,  v^diich  it  would  have  been  hard  to  account 
for,  in  the  minds  of  several  of  the  most  active  followers 
of  each  aspirant. 

No  sooner,  therefore,  had  the  regular  organization 
been  effected,  than  the  leaders  of  the  separate  factions, 
in  order  to  gain  time  for  that  peculiar  maneuvering 
which  is  so  necessary  before  the  work  of  the  convention 
begins  in  earnest,  called  loudly  for  a  speech  from 
Colonel  Woodley.  If  Mr.  Latham  had  been  present,  it 
is  not  probable  that  his  adherents  would  have  com- 
mitted this  blunder.  As  it  was,  however.  Colonel  Wood- 
ley,  who  never  missed  his  opportunity,  proceeded  to 
address  the  convention,  urging  with  the  art  of  the 
practiced  advocate  the  paramount  necessity  of  naming 
at  that  time,  for  a  seat  in  Congress,  the  particular  man 
who  could  most  thoroughly  and  efficiently  uphold  and 
support  the  National  ^Administration  in  the  conduct  of 
the  war.  He  managed  shrewdly  to  call  attention  to  the 
weak  points  of  each  of  the  aspirants,  vrithout  naming 
any  of  them,  but  producing  a  sort  of  nameless  "weak- 
ening" in  the  hearts  of  all  except  their  immediate  per- 
sonal friends.  "  Fortunately,"  he  said  in  conclusion, 
''  it  was  not  necessary  to  consider  the  question  of  avail- 
ibility.  Any  member  of  the  party,  any  lover  of  the 
country,  whom  the  convention  might  select,  would  be 
elected.  The  only  question  was,  who  could-  and  would 
do  the  most  for  the  nation  in  this  her  hour  of  need  .-* 
Who  would  strengthen  and  sustain  the  arm  of  Stanton 


KING   CAUCUS.  325 

and  the  heart  of  Lincoln?  Who  would  most  ably  up- 
hold the  Government  in  the  policy  of  devoting  the  last 
man  and  the  last  dollar  to  the  defence  of  its  territorial 
integrity,  and  the  still  greater  principles  to  which  it  now 
stood  pledged — of  universal  manhood  and  liberty  for 
all?"  Here  the  applause  was  tremendous.  "Then,"  he 
said,  "  he  hoped  the  convention  would  act  v/ith  delibera- 
tion. He  had  recently  been  in  consultation  with  the 
President  and  knev/  that  he  looked  for  that  district  to 
send  him  a  man  in  whom  he  could  trust  implicitly,  and 
on  v.'hose  zeal  [this  was  a  hit  at  the  present  incumbent], 
disinterested  patriotism,  [a  cut  at  the  know^n  ambition  of 
his  predecessor],  and  practical  sagacity  [what  the  coun- 
try people  call  a  '  surbinder'  on  Mr.  Latham's  preten- 
tions] he  could  always  rely  with  the  utmost  confidence. 
There  were  many  men  in  the  district  who  possessed 
all  these  qualifications ;  the  only  question  was,  who  had 
them  most  abundantly?"  He  then  proceeded  to  name 
several,  including  in  the  list  those  already  mentioned 
and  also  some  others  who  were  present,  and  on  whom 
this  deft  flattery  was  by  no  means  lost.  Among  these, 
he  mentioned,  as  if  casually,  "that  gallant  young  soldier, 
of  Avhose  fame  we  are  all  so  proud,  who,  by  his  own 
unaided  ability,  has  risen  from  a  condition  of  impover- 
ished orphanage,  on  the  banks  of  the  Pymatuning,  to 
scholarly  distinction  first,  and  afterwards  to  soldierly 
renown  (cries  of  *  Name  !  name !') ;  ^that  young  hero 
to  whom  every  conflict  was  but  an  opportunity  for 
added  glory  ('Name!  name!');  on  whom  the  Presi- 
dent had  lately  conferred  one  of  the  brightest  and  best- 
deserved   stars   which  he  had   bestowed    since  the  war 


326  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

began."  ('Name!  name!  name!')  ''''Name 2''  said  the 
orator,  ''  why,  it  is  a  name  which  has  been  written  a 
step  higher  in  every  battle  by  the  sword  of  its  gallant 
owner,  until  upon  the  heights  of  Kenesaw  it  reached  its 
present  deserved  distinction,  and,  like  a  city  set  upon 
a  hill,  could  no  longer  be  hid  from  an  admiring  nation — 
the  name  of  " — you  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  the 
expectant  hush — ''  Brigadier-General  Markham  Churr, 
promoted  for  gallant  conduct,  in  battle  after  battle, 
from  a  private  at  Bull  Run  to  his  present  rank!" 

No  one  had  heard  of  the  last  promotion,  but  all 
knew  something  of  the  brilliant  career  of  the  young 
officer,  and  thunders  of  applause  burst  forth  before  the 
announcement  was  complete.  An  enthusiastic  delegate 
jumped  upon  a  bench,  and  shouted: 

"Three  cheers  for  General  Churr!" 

They  were  given  with  a  will,  and  then  three  more. 
Then  there  was  a  confused  partial  hush,  and  a  uni- 
formed figure,  -with  a  major's  straps  on  his  shoulders, 
was  seen  standing  upon  a  seat  directly  in  front  of  the 
chairman,  waving  his  cap  determinedly  towards  that 
functionary.    The  chairman  recognized,  and  announced  : 

"The  delegate  from  Aychitula." 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  shouts  the  delegate,  "  I  move  that 
Brigadier-General  Markham  Churr  be  declared  the  nom- 
inee of  this  convention,  by  acclamation^  for  a  seat  in  the 
7iX\-\  Congress,  from  the  ;/th  District." 

Cries  of  "No!  no!"  "Adjourn!"  "Order!"  are 
drowned  in  shouts  of  "Yes!  yes!"  "Question!  ques- 
tion!" The  chairman  pounds  the  table  in  vain.  The 
tumult  only   increases;   but  there   is   no   mistaking  its 


KING   CAUCUS. 


327 


tendency.  The  blue-coated  delegate  who  has  made 
the  motion  turns  towards  the  seething  crowd,  gesticu- 
lating wildly  wnth  his  cap.  As  he  does  so,  we  see  that 
it  is  the  stubbly-faced,  warm-hearted  Doctor  of  Fair- 
bank.  Finally,  the  chairman  appeals  to  Woodley  to 
still  the  tempest.  He  steps  forward,  and,  with  an  air 
of  command,  raises  his  right  hand  above  his  head,  with 
the  open  palm  towards  the  crowded  hall. 

"Hush — sh — Woodley — see!"  runs  through  the  au- 
dience, and  there  is  an  instant's  quiet.  Then  the  chair- 
man cries  out,  in  the  pause  : 

"  All  in  favor  —  motion  —  delegate  —  Aychitula — say 
Aye." 

''''Aye!'''  burst,  in  a  prolonged  and  echoing  shout, 
from  every  part  of  the  hall. 

A  moment's  silence,  and  the  chairman  called  for 
those  opposed.  The  few  who  had  remained  faithful  to 
their  particular  friends  through  the  burst  of  contagious 
enthusiasm  which  had  carried  away  the  vast  majority 
of  the  convention,  saw  how  useless  it  would  be  to  row 
against  so  strong  a  tide,  and,  fearful  of  injuring  the 
future  prospects  of  their  favorites,  were  silent.  The 
chairman  therefore  announced  Brigadier-General  Mark- 
ham  Churr  to  have  been  unanimously  nominated  by  that 
convention  to  represent  the  n\\\  District  in  the  next 
Congress. 

Then  there  were  unlimited  cheers,  innumerable 
handshakings  and  congratulations  among  the  delegates, 
a  short  speech  on  behalf  of  the  candidate  by  Colonel 
Woodley,  a  little  routine  business,  and  the  convention 
adjourned  sine  die^  the  members  going  to  their  hgmes 


328  ^IG^  --i^'D    THISTLES. 

in  a  sort  of  maze,  to  tell  to  their  wondering  neighbors 
what  had  been  done,  and  to  read  in  their  questioning 
faces  the  "Why?"  which  they  could  not  answer. 

After  all,  human  nature  is  human  nature;  and  King 
Caucus  is  never  secure  against  the  influence  of  the 
"  one-man"  power. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

HELMET    OR    TOGA. 

A  TELEGRAM  from  the  Superintendent  of  Rail- 
road Transportation,  which  was  forwarded  to  his 
headquarters  by  special  messenger  with  the  com- 
pliments of  the  general  commanding,  was  the  first  in- 
timation which  Markham  Churr  had  of  the  new  honor 
which  had  been  proffered  him.  Soon,  congratulations 
poured  in  from  every  quarter;  but  the  young  soldier, 
with  the  brightness  of  his  new  star  yet  undimmed, 
could  not,  for  a  long  time,  bring  himself  to  contemplate 
the  abandonment  of  the  service  in  which  his  laurels 
had  been  won. 

There  is  something  about  the  soldier's  life  peculiarly 
attractive  to  all  finely-strung. natures.  Poetry  and  v/ar 
are  almost  inseparable.  The  story  of  the  siege  of  Troy 
made  the  blind  Homer  surpassingly  eloquent.  The 
very  thought  of  struggle  and  conquest  stirs  even  the 
most  sluggish  soul  to  its  depths,  and  fires  natures  of 
finer  textures  to  a  frenzy  which  scorns  death  and  dan- 


HELMET  OR    TOGA.  3,0 

ger,  transcends  earth  and  time,  and  intoxicates  as 
thoroughly  as  the  juice  of  the  poppy  itself.  Markham 
was  no  stranger  to  this  feeling.  He  remembered,  when 
his  men  had  fallen  around  him  under  a  scathing  hail 
of  hostile  bullets,  that  he  had  laughed  in  careless  glee 
as  he  went  up  and  down  the  line,  heedless  of  danger, 
and  half-surprised  that  death  should  come  with  the 
hissing  pellets  which  flew  about.  He  remembered  once, 
when  he  had  led  a  charge  on  a  hostile  battery,  through 
the  brown  autumn  vroods  ahead  of  his  line,  with  flash- 
ing sword  in  one  hand  and  plumed  hat  in  the  other, 
how  the  blood  danced  through  his  veins  as  if  the  very 
elixir  of  joy  had  inspired  its  impulses.  He  remembered 
thinking,  as  some  grape-shot  struck  a  pace  or  two  at  one 
side,  that  they  made  just  such  a  scurrying  in  the  heap 
of  leaves  as  he  had  often  seen  a  flushed  brood  of  young 
partridges  make  in  the  forest  at  home.  The  atmos- 
phere of  conflict  was  a  joy  to  him. 

Then,  too,  he  was  fond  of  command,  and  the  ever- 
widening  sense  of  power  which  his  frequently-recurring 
promotions  had  brought  was  peculiarly  grateful  to  a 
nature  like  his.  He  was  neither  a  tyrant  nor  a  martinet. 
His  men  loved  and  trusted  him.  Subordinates  and 
superiors  alike  rejoiced  in  his  success.  He  did  not 
desire  power  for  the  purpose  of  exacting  deference  or 
commanding  place  and  honor,  but  simply  because  he 
loved  the  activity  and  responsibility  which  it  brought, 
and  prized  his  rank  as  an  expression  of  approval  from 
his  comrades  and  his  country. 

Besides  all  these  things,  it  should  be  remembered 
that    the    career   of  the    Army  of  the   Cumberland,  to 


330  FIG^  ^^-VZ>    THISTLES. 

which  he  was  attached,  had  been  the  embodiment  of 
all  that  was  poetical  in  the  soldier's  life.  Sweeping 
along  the  broad  pikes  which  wind  through  the  rich  fields 
of  Kentucky ;  fighting  in  the  hazy  October  under  the 
hickories  which  crown  with  golden  sheen  the  knobs  of 
Perryville ;  pushing  on  after  the  flying  foe  to  Nashville  ; 
and  from  thence  creeping  out  in  the  early  winter  upon 
the  pike  which  seams  the  serried  hills  to  Murfreesboro', 
where  Bragg  lay  sullen  and  defiant — where  a  new  year 
was  ushered  in  with  a  death- grapple  on  the  banks  of 
Stone  River,  amid  the  broad  cotton-fields  and  low,  clus- 
tering cedars;  its  cheerful  fortitude  under  unexpected 
reverses,  and  that  daring  which  turned  actual,  and  per- 
haps not  unmerited,  defeat  into  unexpected  victory,  made 
the  Legion  of  Honor  soon  after  instituted  by  the  com- 
manding general  a  not  unfitting  tribute  to  its  high  qual- 
ities. 

Then  a  few  months  of  repose,  and,  in  the  sultry  sum- 
mer, they  followed  the  flying  enemy  again,  through  the 
fortified  hill-gaps  of  Tullahoma ;  from  TuUahoma  to 
Bridgeport;  over  the  hills  by  Decherd,  University, 
and  Jasper  Mountains,  with  their  marvelous  "coves" 
and  rich  valleys  interspersed — across  the  Tenessee,  and 
into  the  mountains  of  Georgia.  Then  came  the  shock 
of  battle  at  Chickamauga,  and  the  sullen,  surprised  re- 
treat to  Chattanooga ;  the  farcical  siege,  with  the  enemy's 
approaches  miles  away  upon  the  crest  of  Mission  Ridge 
and  Look  Out's  inaccessible  brow;  the  wild  dash  when 
the  enemy's  line  was  broken  and  a  hundred  rival  flags 
vied  with  each  other  in  the  hasty  scramble  up  the 
shingly  steep;    the  swift  pursuit  and  the  stern  conflict 


HELMET  OR    TOGA.  -^l 

wliich  marked  the  campaign  of  which  Resaca,  Bald 
Face,  Buzzard  Roost,  Peach  Tree  Creek,  and  Acorn 
Run  were  the  landmarks,  arrd  which  had  brought  them 
face  to  face  with  the  long  ranges  of  works  behind  which 
rested  the  Queen  City  of  the  Confederacy — Atlanta. 

Markham  and  his  comrades  counted  their  marches 
by  the  thousand  miles.  Every  day  of  their  association 
had  been  one  of  active  campaigning,  in  a  region  full  of 
romantic  interest  and  rich  in  every  variety  of  produc- 
tion. When  they  had  not  been  closely  engaged  with 
the  enemy  in  their  front,  they  had  been  busy  with  Mor- 
gan and  Forrest  and  Wheeler  in  their  rear,  and  along 
their  outstretched  line  of  supply,  amid  a  hostile  popu- 
lation. They  had  had  none  of  the  sloth  and  inaction 
which  corrupts  armies,  hardly  enough  of  real  defeat  to 
sweeten  victory.  They  had  enjoyed  an  exemption  from 
disease  which  is  exceptional  in  the  history  of  armies. 
If  war  could  be  thoroughly  enjoyable  anywhere,  it  must 
have  been  in  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  where  it 
wore  its  most  attractive  guise.  No  wonder  that  Mark- 
ham  hesitated.     But  the  tempter  was  at  hand. 

The  Chief  of  Transportation  had  won  as  many  lau- 
rels in  the  rear  as  our  hero  of  many  battles  had  in  the 
front.  The  genius  which  kept  a  single 'line  of  railway 
track  in  active  and  effective  operation  from  the  Ohio 
River  to  the  mountains  of  Georgia  can  never  be  for- 
gotten while  the  history  of  that  great  movement  is  read 
or  sung.  The  soldier-civilian  under  whose  direction  it 
proceeded,  whose  eye  was  upon  every  part  of  this  long 
line,  and  whose  busy  brain  never  rested  or  fagged  in  its 
ceaseless  activity,  was  only  half-aware   how  great  was 


332  ^JGS  AND    THISTLES. 

the  work  which  he  devised  and  executed.  So  strong 
and  self-reliant  was  his  mind,  that  he  laughed  at  a  task 
which  will  long  be  thought  gigantic.  He  was  not  am- 
bitious. After  the  patriotic  impulse  that  took  him  into 
the  service,  he  did  not  work  for  honor  or  power,  but 
merely  for  the  pleasure  of  having  a  task  commensurate 
with  his  energies  The  very  chief  whom  he  served 
could  not  fathom  his  capacity.  He  asked  no  questions, 
sought  no  forbearance,  made  no  explanations.  His  pre- 
science seemed  almost  infinite.  Whatever  he  required  he 
had  always  at  hand.  Whatever  he  w^as  ordered  to  do,  he 
accomplished.  Whatever  power  he  was  given  he  exer- 
cised. Whatever  further  authority  he  needed  he  assumed. 
Rhadamanthus  was  not  more  inflexible ;  the  Fates  not 
more  inscrutable.  He  held  the  army  by  the  throat,  and 
every  man,  from  its  commanding  general  to  the  poorest 
private,  must  obey  his  imperious  behests.  He  knew  it, 
and  smiled  grimly  when  the  "stars"  bowed  to  the  will 
of  the  "eagles." 

He  divined  that  Markham  might  hesitate,  and  went 
to  the  front,  ostensibly  to  consult  his  chief,  really  to 
see  his  protege. 

They  sit,  after  supper,  under  the  rude  arbor  which 
constitutes  the  headquarters  of  the  young  general. 
Upon  either  side,  in  the  soft  evening  light,  stretch  away 
over  hill  and  valley  the  encampments  of  the  army,  which 
has  just  forced  its  antagonist  back,  inch  by  inch,  to  the 
line  of  the  Chattahoochie. 

"  So  you  are  in  doubt  about  accepting  this  nomina- 
tion V  says  Woodley,  indefinitely. 

*'  Yes,"  answers  Markham ;  and  his  tone  clearly  be- 


HELMET  OR    TOGA, 


ZZl 


trays  his  perplexity.  "  1  cannot  think  that  it  is  my 
duty  to  leave  the  field," 

"  It  is  strange  what  different  names  we  give  ambi- 
tion!''  says  Woodley,  with  a  half-sneer. 

"Ambition!"  exclaims  Markham,  coloring  neverthe- 
less. "  I  am  sure  you  do  me  injustice  in  that  respect. 
You  know  that  you  counseled  me,  at  the  first,  that  this 
would  be  a  long  struggle,  and  that  I  had  better  make 
warfare  my  business  until  it  was  over." 

"  You  will  admit  that  I  could  have  hardly  contem- 
plated then  that  you  would  be  offered  the  position  Avhich 
is  now  thrust  upon  you,"  said  the  elder,  with  an  expres- 
sive laugh. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Markham,  still  mi;ich  embar- 
rassed;  "but  I  know  I  am  prepared  to  perform  the 
duties  of  my  present  position,  and  I  think  I  ought  to 
give  my  service  where  it  is  worth  the  most." 

"  No  doubt  those  are  your  actual  reasons  for  hesi- 
tation," said  Woodley,  with  good-natured  mockery; 
"yet  I  would  like  to  know  General  Markham  Churr's 
candid  opinion  as  to  how  many  there  are  around  the 
camp-fires  of  this  army  to-night  who  are  quite  as  able 
to  command  this  division  as  himsdf." 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Markham,  pleasantly;  "a 
good  many,  I  suppose." 

"  Exactly.  Just  my  own  opinion,  too.  Now,  if 
Markham  Churr  h'ad  stopped  to  inquire  scrupulously 
whether  he  was  the  very  best  man  for  promotion  every 
time  a  new  shoulder-strap  was  offered  him,  about  what 
do  you  suppose  would  have  been  his  grade  in  the  ser- 
vice at  this  date  V 


234  ^^'^^  ^-i-^^-^    THISTLES. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Markham,  du- 
biously. 

"Don't  know?  Well,  I  can  tell  you.  You  would 
have  been  about  a  junior  first  lieutenant  in  one  of'  those 
regiments  yonder,"  retorted  Woodley.  "  Understand 
me,"  he  added,  seeing  that  the  young  officer  winced 
under  his  brusque  language — "  understand  me.  I  do 
not  mean  to  depreciate  your  talents  or  capacity.  That 
I  rate  them  highly  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  I  have 
pushed  you  forward,  or,  rather,  given  you  a  chance  to 
push  yourself,  from  sergeant  to  brigadier-general,  and 
then,  without  your  knowledge,  managed  successfully 
your  nomination  for  Congress  in  a  district  where  a 
nomination  means  an  election." 

"  I  am  sure,  Colonel,"  said  Markham,  with  an  as- 
sumption of  formality  which  had  not  marked  their  con- 
versation hitherto,  "that  I  am  very  grateful  for  your 
kind  exertions  in  my  behalf." 

"  Grateful  !  Fudge  !  I  don't  want  any  gratitude. 
I've  taken  my  pay  as  we  went  along.  I  have  endorsed 
you  whenever  there  was  a  chance,  and  you  have  justi- 
fied my  judgment  every  time.  That  was  my  pay. 
Whenever  I  heard  ar  good  report  of  you,  or  read  of  any 
gallant  deed  of  yours,  I  said  to  myself:  'There,  Boaz 
Woodley,  you  can  discount  that,  and  put  a  share  of  it 
to  your  credit.  That's  your  boy.  You  haven't  any 
son  in  the  field,  but  you  have  been' the  good  genius  of 
one  who  is  overtopping  those  that  started  with  him  as 
easily  as  a  sunflower  overtops  a  thistle.  It's  your  work, 
Boaz  Woodley,  and  he's  your  boy  now.'  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  man,  huskily. 


HELMET   OR    TOGA.  335 

as  he  extended  his  hand,  while  tears  glittered  in  his 
eyes;  "I  will  do  just  as  you  wish  about  this  matter." 

"No,"  said  Woodley,  ''  I  do  not  want  that,  and  have 
no  right  to  ask  it.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  think  I 
have  a  right  to  ask,  and  that  is,  that  when  I  come  dov/n 
here  to  consult  with  you  about  a  matter  so  important 
to  your  future,  that  you  should  deal  frankly  and  fairly 
and  not  palter  with  me." 

''  Now,  really.  Colonel  Woodley,"  began  Markham. 

"  Oh  !  I  know.  You  think  you  have  been  entirely 
candid  and  truthful,  both  with  yourself  and  with  me; 
but  you  have  not.  The  fact  is,  you  have  been  making 
yourself  believe  that  your  decision  in  regard  to  this  is 
based  upon  consideration  for  the  interest  of  the  nation. 
This  is  not  so.  The  question  you  have  to  decide,  and 
the  one  you  have  been  really  trying  to  decide  in  your 
own  mind,  is.  Which  will  best  subserve  the  interest  of 
Markham  Churr — to  continue  in  the  service  as  a  brig- 
adier, or  take  a  seat  in  Congress  .^  Which  will  secure 
the  most  certain  and  brilliant  future*.?" 

"I  hope  you  do  not  consider  me  entirely  selfish," 
said  Markham,  seriously. 

"Really,  now,"  said  Woodley,  "  tliat  is  a  funny  idea! 
You  think  I  do  you  injustice,  when  you  would  have  me 
believe,  in  all  seriousness,  that  your  reason  for  declining 
the  nomination  is  a  fear  that  among  a  million  of  vet- 
erans there  is  not  one  who  could  so  well  discharge 
the  duties  of  your  present  position  as  yourself.  Verily, 
that  is  modesty  with  a  vengeance!" 

"But,"  began  Markham. 

"But,"  said   Woodley,   interrupting   him,  "you   are 


336 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


wrong  even  in  that  view,  which  you  assume  to  take. 
The  military  crisis  of  the  nation  is  passed.  A  trained 
soldiery  will  always  furnish  a  capable  and  efficient 
corps  of  officers.  You  might  kill  every  general  in  the 
army  to-day,  and  to-morrow  it  would  be  just  as  well 
commanded  as  now — perhaps  better.  You  might  take 
off  by  disease  every  one  that  wears  shoulder-straps  in  a 
week's  time,  and  in  a  week  more  it  would  be  as  well 
officered  as  at  this  hour.  The  war  has  outlasted  the 
dearth  of  officers." 

"But  you  know  I  have  no  experience  in  legislation," 
said  Markham,  desperately. 

"That  is  right,"  said  Woodley,  "you  are  talking 
sensibly  now.  Markham  Churr  is  sure  that  he  can  ac- 
quit himself  creditably  as  a  brigadier-general;  as  a 
Congressman  he  is  not  so  sure  of  himself,  and  he  hesi- 
tates. In  so  doing,  he  is  quite  right,  if  he  fully  and 
properly  estimates  his  own  capacity.  A  man  should 
never  undertake  what  he  feels  himself  incompetent  to 
perform,  and  one' who  studies  himself  with  reasonable 
diligence  will  always  have  a  fair  idea  of  his  own  powers. 
A  man  may  be  fit  for  a  major-general,  for  instance, 
and  yet  be  utterly  worthless  as  a  topographical  engineer 
or  a — a — " 

"Chief  of  Military  Transportation,"  laughed  Mark- 
ham, recovering  his  spirit  a  little. 

"Well,  yes,"  answered  Woodley,  "I  am  vain  enough 
to  think  that  there  are  not  many  major-generals  in  the 
army  who  could  compete  with  me  in  that  department." 

"Nobody  believes  that  there  is  one,"  said  Markham. 

"Thank   you.   General.     You   have   found   my  weak 


HELMET   OR    TOGA. 


ZZl 


point.  I  cannot  stand  flattery  when  it  takes  the  form 
of  commendation  of  my  service  in  this  war.  I  am 
afraid  I  am  as  vain  as  the  veriest  peacock  of  a  lieu- 
tenant who  struts  about  on  parade, 

'  as  if  he  felt 
The  eyes  of  Europe  on  his  tail.'  " 

"I  declare,"  laughed  the  young  brigadier,  '*  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  so  susceptible  to  flattery  ;  but,  in  truth, 
my  remark  was  not  flattery  at  all.     It  was  simple  fact." 

"  Ah !  well,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  have  you  know 
that  I  take  the  greatest  pride  in  my  v/ork,  nor  sorry  to 
know  that  you  are  gratified  at  the  way  it  has  been  done. 
It  is  something  like  the  respect  of  the  son  for  the 
father's  handiwork,"  said  Woodley.  "But,  laying  this 
aside,"  he  continued,  as  he  looked  at  his  watch,  "let 
us  speak  of  your  afl'airs  for  a  few  minutes.  I  must  re- 
port to  the  general  in  half  an  hour,  and  it  is  quite  a 
ride  to  his  quarters  for  one  v^^ho  gets  into  a  saddle 
as  rarely  as  I  do. 

"You  are  hesitating  because  yoii  are  not  sure  of 
yourself  in  the  proposed  place.  Well,  you  are  the  only 
one  who  can  decide  that.  Never  take  or  ask  advice 
as  to  what  you  can  do  or  w^hat  you  are  fitted  for.  Fol- 
low your  own  mind — your  'bent,'  as  our  country  people 
in  Ohio  say.  At  least,  never  take  a  man's  advice.  A 
woman — a  keen,  subtle  woman,  with  her  wits  sharpened 
by  love — may,  and  frequently  does,  know  a  man's  ca-- 
pacity  better  than  he  himself.  There  is  your  wife,  now. 
If  you  knew  her  opinion  you  might  follow  it  safely. 
She  is  a  remarkable  woman,  in  my  judgment — a  very 
remarkable  woman.     Oh,  no  thanks,  I  did  not  mean  it 


338  f^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

as  compliment,  and  you  do  not  by  any  means  appreciate 
her  superiority — not  as  you  will  before  you  come  to 
my  age.  She  has  that  in  her  which  would  make  an 
impress  upon  the  life  of  any  man — strong  or  weak — to 
whom  she  might  give  her  love.  You  will  bless  or  curse 
her,  young  man,  before  you  die.  But  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there  as  regards  this  matter.  If  you  think 
you  cannot  hold  your  own  in  Congress,  don't  go  there; 
but  if  you  just  feel  a  little  startled,  and  know  that  it 
is  in  you  to  meet  fairly,  in  defence  of  your  own  ideas, 
whomsoever  may  come  to  oppose  them,  don't  hesitate 
from  any  fear  that  you  are  risking  too  much.  Let  me 
tell  you,  it  is  my  notion  that  we  have  passed  the  divide, 
and  are  on  the  dov\'n  grade  in  this  war.  The  fighting — 
the  heavy  fighting — is  about  over,  and  the  heavy  crop  of 
military  honors  is  about  harvested,  too.  There  will  be, 
of  course,  many  a  line  officer  who  will  get  into  the  field, 
and  sergeants  and  corporals  will  change  worsted  into 
gold.  Just  at  the  last  there  may  be  a  crop  of  brevets, 
which  every  one  will  despise ;  but  the  men  who  will 
command  armies  and  make  names  are  already  famous. 
Remember  that.  The  chances  are  more  than  ten  to 
one  that  the  star  on  your  shoulder  will  never  see  its 
fellow,  unless  in  the  final  meteoric  shower  of  customary 
and  meaningless  honors.  But  my  time  is  up.  Think 
well  and  decide  promptly  and  finally  what  you  will  do. 
Good  bye." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  the  young  man  as  he  rose. 
The  latter  took  it,  and,  looking  into  his  eyes  as  he  de- 
tained it  an  instant,  said,  quietly  : 

"  I  have  decided." 


HELMET  OR    TOGA. 


339 


"Well?"  emphatically. 

"I  will  accept." 

"Good!"  with  a  hearty  hand-shake.  "I  had  ac- 
cepted for  you,  you  know,  and  should  have  felt  cha- 
grined enough  to  have  you  refuse." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE    TEMPLE    CLOSED. 

SO  Boaz  Woodley  rode  away  into  the  summer  twi- 
light to  the  tent  of  his  chief,  smiling  grimly  to  him- 
self, thinking  that  his  persuasions  and  managment  had 
induced  Markham  Churr  to  accede  to  his  wishes.  It 
did  him  good  to  think  so.  He  knew  that  it  was  to  the 
young  soldier's  advantage  that  he  should,  and  he  had 
helped  him  on  so  long,  that  he  had  come  to  enjoy  the 
very  act  of  promoting  his  good  almost  as  much  as  if 
he  had  never  had  any  but  the  most  disinterested  motive 
in  so  doing — more,  in  fact,  for  to  a  nature  like  Boaz 
Woodley's  a  sense  of  ownership  is  essential  to  perfect 
enjoyment.  That  which  is  his — which  exists  only  in  the 
circle  where  his  own  influence  is  predominant — is  by 
that  fact  itself  made  superior,  in  his  estimation,  to 
everything  else  of  the  kind. 

This  sense  he  had,  as  he  had  admitted  to  Markham, 
in  regard  to  his  young  prote'g^.  Markham  had  been  kis 
captain,  his  major,  his  colonel,  his  general,  and  now  was 
to  be  his  Congressman.     He  did  not  use  this  possessive 


340  FiGS  AND    THISTLES. 

in  the  sense  of  ownership  or  control.  He  would  have 
despised  Markham  Churr  if  he  had  surrendered  his  own 
will,  his  independent  self-direction,  and  he  was  far 
enough  from  despising  the  young  man.  In  truth  he 
loved  him  m.ore  than  he  had  ever  defined  or  would 
have  admitted  to  himself.  Yet  it  was  as  his  own.  He 
had,  as  it  w^ere,  created  him.  He  had  at  least  built  up 
his  fortune  and  his  fame,  or  showed  him  how  to  do  it. 
Certainly  no  one  could  deny  that  Markham  Churr,  as 
he  stood  there  upon  the  hill-top,  watching  horse  and 
rider  disappear  in  the  darkening  valley — Markham 
Churr,  the  successful  soldier,  commanding  the  best 
division  in  a  victorious  army — Markham  Churr,  the 
embryo  statesman,  was  in  no  small  degree  the  pro- 
duct of  Boaz  Woodley's  energy,  shrewdness  and  power. 
Well  might  the  Chief  of  Transportation  mingle  in  his 
waking  dreams  the  two  great  thoughts  of  the  life  he 
then  lived — his  Railroad  and  his  Congressman. 

Yet  they  were  both  myths. 

Men  have  owned  railroads  before  and  since,  and 
men  have  owned  Congressmen  before  and  since.  Men 
have  bought  and  sold,  and  consigned  and  leased,  and 
made  and  marred,  both  articles,  and  no  doubt  will  do 
it  again.  Yet  perhaps  there  has  not  been  another  who 
so  entirely  believed  he  had  both,  while,  in  fact,  he  had 
neither. 

And  yet  the  railroad  was  his,  because  he  managed 
it.  That  is  true.  We  must  yield  him  that  moiety  of 
the  foundation  on  which  he  built  so  just  a  pride.  And 
the  Congressman  (that  was  to  be),  had  he  not  the  same 
rights  of  self-gratulation  in  regard  to  him  1 


THE    TEMPLE    CLOSED.  341 

We  shall  see. 

That  very  day  there  had  come  a  little  white-winged 
messenger  to  Markham  Churr,  the  words  of  which  had 
broken  down  the  last  stronghold  of  his  hesitation.  This 
was  a  letter  written  by  Lizzie — now  domiciled  in  the 
pleasant  home  she  had  coveted  as  the  paradise  of  earthly 
felicity,  the  title  to  which  was  duly  recorded,  in  the 
name  of  Elizabeth  Harper  Churr,  in  the  Register's 
office  in  the  court-house,  whose  shadow  fell  upon  its 
front  porch  when  the  summer  sun  *'hung  red  o'er  the 
westling  hill !" 

From  this  cosy  home-nest,  which  her  love  had 
peopled  with  unnumbered  dreams  of  bliss,  and  which 
was  still  so  new  as  to  have,  to  her  imagination,  the 
sweetness  of  the  fresh  and  evanescent  flowers  of  the 
early  spring-time,  came  the  missive  which  had  decided 
his  course. 

At  the  top  of  the  well-filled  sheet  were  pasted  two 
extracts  from  newspapers,  the  one  announcing  his  ap- 
pointment as  brigadier,  and  the  other  giving  an  account 
of  his  nomination  as  candidate  for  Congress  in  the 
«th  district.     The  letter  began  : 

"  My  Dear  Husband  :  Truly,  your  honors  come  so 
thick  that  your  poor  wife  hardly  knows  what  title  to 
bestow.  I  almost  fear  that  the  one  I  use  upon  tlie 
envelope  will  be  out  of  date  before  this  letter  reaches 
you.  It  seems  but  a  little  while  ago  and  you  were 
simply  my  'bold  soldier-boy,'  without  distinction  or 
title  save  what  my  fond  heart  and  your  own  valor  gave 
to  that  crushed  but  unsubdued  survivor  of  the  first  Bull 


342  J^-^GS  AND    THISTLES, 

Run.  Then  you  were  a  captain.  I  wonder  if  that  title 
and  honor  did  not  bring  you  more  joy  than  any  you 
have  had  since  1     And  now — 

"  *  Thamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor,  and  shalt  be 
What  thou  art  promised.' 

*'  You  know,  my  dear  husband,  how  I  rejoice  in 
your  honors  and  dignities,  not  only  because  you  are 
my  husband,  and  your  laurels  shine  with  a  reflected 
light  on  me,  but  also  because  you  have  so  nobly  earned 
them,  and  I  know  what  a  genuine,  honest  pleasure  they 
bring  to  you. 

"  After  all,  I  do  not  love  to  hear  of  your  rewards  as 
well  as  I  do  of  the  acts  by  which  you  have  won  them. 
I  think  I  have  read  that  account  of  the  assault  of  Bald 
Face  a  thousand  times !  I  have  tried  to  imagine  your 
brigade  struggling  up  the  sharp  acclivity,  through  the 
scraggy  oaks  and  cruel  chevaux  de  /rise,  up  to  within 
twenty  steps  of  those  terrible  works,  and  then  lying 
there  so  many  hours  under  that  fearful  fire.  Ah,  my 
husband,  it  was  then  that  I  was  proud  of  you  ! 

"And  yet,  Markham,  I  was  very  glad  when  I  saw 
your  nomination  for  Congress.  I  am  not  blind  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  a  surprise,  not  only  to  me  and  to  you, 
but  to  almost  everybody  else.  I  am  sure,  though  I  do 
not  know  how  it  came  about,  that  it  was  the  work  of 
Colonel  Woodley,  or,  rather,  that  he  was  the  instrument. 
For  you  know,  Markham,  I  pray  for  you  so  much,  and 
you  have  been  kept  through  so  many  dangers,  that  I 
am  sure  God  orders  the  events  of  your  life,  and  that 
he  overruled  events  so  as  to  lead  to  your  nomination. 

"Do  not  laugh  at  my  simple  faith,  dear  husband.     I 


THE    TEMPLE    CLOSED.  343 

am  sure  I  do  not  wish  you  to  accept  this  proffered 
fortune  because  you  would  thereby  avoid  danger.  I 
would  not  have  you  do  that  if  I  knew  you  would  be 
brought  dead  to  my  arms,  though  I  shall  be  too  happy 
to  tell  my  joy  when  you  are  out  of  the  horrible  jaws  of 
war. 

"And  I  think,  darling,  that  you  can  do  quite  as 
good  service  in  the  new  career  which  has  opened  to 
you.  It  is  one  which  is  harmonious  with  your  early 
training  and  old  ambition.  And  then,  I  do  not  know 
why,  but  we  all  seem  to  think  the  v/ar  is  not  far  from 
being  ended.  If  it  be  so,  you  have  personally  gained 
all  that  can  be  hoped  for  by  it.  Indeed,  if  it  snail 
give  you  such  an  entrance  into  the  life  you  desired, 
you  will  have  reaped  a  bountiful  harvest  from  the  field 
of  blood. 

"And,  besides  all  that,  darling,  your  little  v/ife  will 
see  you  again,  and  show  you  our  sweet  home,  and — oh, 
I  shall  look  and  long,  and  count  the  days  until  you 
come.     I  know,  I  feel,  that  it  will  not  be  long. 

"  My  dear,  brave  husband,  God  bless  and  keep  you. 

"Lizzie." 

When  Boaz  Woodley  counted  himself  the  power  be- 
hind the  throne  he  did  not  know  of  this  letter,  nor  did 
he  think  he  was  only  playing  second  to  so  potent  an 
influence  in- the  life  of  his  favorite.  Yet  his  keen  eye 
had  seen  what  would  be  the  woman's  counsel,  and  he 
had  certainly  lost  no  point  in  his  game  by  commending 
Markham  to  seek  and  to  act  upon  it. 


In  obedience  to  the  behests  of  King  Caucus,  moved 


344  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

and  instigated  by  Boaz  Woodley,  and  ratified,  with  sin- 
gular unanimity,  by  the  voters  of  the  7i\\\  District,  Mark- 
ham  Churr  laid  down  his  martial  honors,  donned  the 
civic  toga,  and  assumed  his  place  in  the  councils  of  the 
nation,  before  the  closing  scenes  of  the  great  struggle 
had  been  enacted.  He  saw  the  tide  of  battle  from  afar, 
as  the  war  went  on  to  its  close,  but  he  did  not  feel  its 
-shock  again.  His  heart  only  was  with  his  old  comrades 
as  they  swept  through  Georgia  to  the  sea,  and  then  up 
through  the  Carolinas  to  the  end. 

He  mourned  with  the  nation  when  its  noblest  fell 
by  the  assassin's  hand,  and  felt  the  rough  grasp  of  his 
brothers  in  arms  once  more  when  that  grandest  pageant 
which  the  continent  has  known — the  Army  of  Freedom, 
on  their  way  to  the  homes  they  had  left  four  years 
before,  crowned  with  the  laurel  of  victory,  the  bronzed 
and  bearded  veterans  of  a  hundred  fights — sv\^ept  through 
the  avenues  ^f  the  Capital,  tlieir  rhythmic  strides  attuned 
to  that  quaint  anthem  whose  prophetic  notes  had  taught 
their  untrained  feet  the  way  of  triumph — immortal  old 
"John  Brown!" 

And  then  the  wave  of  war  passed  by  and  sank  into 
the  ocean  of  peace,  and  Markham  Churr  bent  his  young 
brain  and  earnest  heart  to  the  task  of  making  of  those 
twain  into  which  tlie  nation  had  been  broken,  and  which 
had  faced  each  other  in  battle  so  long,  a  unity  over 
which  ensuing  time  should  ever  breathe  the  marriage 
covenant:  "Whom  God  hath  joined  together  let  not 
man  put  asunder." 

Whether  he  and  those  with  whom  he  wrought  planned 
well  or  ill  their  work,  we  are  not  now  concerned  to  in- 


THE    'JEMFLE    CLOSED,  345 

quire,  and  only  Time,  the  inscrutable  and  riever-hasten- 
ing  arbiter,  can  rightly  tell.  We  know  that  they  lov^ed 
Liberty — had  been  consecrated  to  her  service  by  the 
baptism  of  blood — believed  in  manhood,  abhorred  bond- 
age, and  trusted  in  God  to  verify  their  faith.  Let  us, 
therefore,  wait  and  hope. 


CHAPTER    XLL 

HOME. 

LANESVIIXE,  the  county-seat,  which  was  now 
the  home  of  Markham  Churr,  was  twelve  miles 
to  the  southvvestward  of  Aychitula.  By  what  strange 
chance  a  town  was  built  there,  and  made  the  seat  of 
government  of  the  county,  is  probably  at  this  day  an 
insoluble  riddle.  It  was  not  quite  in  the  local  centre 
of  the  county;  was  at  a  considerable  distance  from  tlie 
centre  of  business,  and  when  first  constituted  must  have 
been  equally  distant  from  the  centre  of  population. 
All  these  variations  from  true  centres  were  entirely 
repugnant  to  the  genius  of  a  people  singularly  scrupu- 
lous with  regard  to  their  own  rights  and  given  to  exact 
measurements  in  establishing  points  of  public  assembly. 
How  the  inhabitants  of  those  rectangular  townships, 
cut  at  regular  intervals  by  intersecting  roads,  were  ever 
brought  to  consent  that  the  citadel  of  county  power 
should  be  set  up  in  a  township  one  range  to  the  west- 
ward  and    two   to   the   northward   of   the   intersecting 


34^ 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


median  lines,  is  a  question  of  singular  interest  to  the 
historian  of  the  Western  Reserve. 

Especially  is  it  made  marvelous  when  we  consider 
the  fact  that  the  court-house  is  not  even  in  the  centre 
of  the  township  in  which  it  is  located,  but  is  five  fur- 
longs, three  chains,  one  pole  and  one  link  to  the  east- 
ward thereof! 

Various  solutions  of  this  mystery  have  been  sug- 
gested by  speculative  minds.  The  most  probable,  and 
the  one  usually  accepted,  is  that  every  village  in  the 
county  contended  stoutly  for  the  honor,  each  frantically 
opposing  the  claims  of  all  the  others,  being  jealous  of 
the  additional  prominence  and  importance  which  the 
possession  of  the  impej-ium  comitice  would  confer  upon 
any  of  its  rivals.  The  strife  grew  so  hot,  that  it  was 
finally  agreed,  as  a  measure  of  compromise,  to  select 
some  point  where  was  not  only  then  no  village  extant, 
but  which,  from  its  natural  characteristics,  was  the  least 
likely  to  become  the  dwelling-place  of  any  save  the 
necessary  county  ofhcers  and  the  few  v/ho  might,  from 
time  to  time,  find  lodgment  in  the  county  jail.  The 
country  people,  it  is  said,  agreed  to  this  all  the  more 
readily,  since,  as  they  said  with  grim  humor,  the  un- 
healthiness  of  the  situation  would  tend  tovrards  a  fre- 
quent rotation  in  office,  discourage  lav\-suits,  and  be  an 
added  terror  to  evil-doers. 

So,  on  a  flat,  low-lying  plain,  between  a  thousand 
acres  of  untamable  swamp  and  a  creek  whose  black 
waters  wandered  in  many  a  crook  and  turn  through  the 
oozy  banks  of  loam  and  over  its  soft  bed  of  slippery 
clay,  seeking  lazily  for  an  outlet  to  gulf  or  lake,  as  if 


HOME.  347 

undetermined  or  indifferent  as  to  its  fate,  was  pitched 
the  village  of  Lanesville.  Whether  the  story  be  true  or 
not,  the  location  in  those  early  days  must  have  justified 
a  belief  in  its  verity.  Time  and  industry,  however, 
are  wonderful  healers  of  the  ills  which  the  face  of  the 
earth,  as  well  as  the  heart  of  man,  is  heir  to ;  and  they 
have  developed  the  fact  that  this  stretch  of  clayey  loam, 
but  just  above  the  level  of  the  neighboring  marsh,  is 
of  unexampled  richness.  As  the  forest  disappeared, 
wide  stretches  of  meadow  and  pasture  took  its  place, 
and  Lanesville  became  not  only  the  seat  of  county 
government,  but  the  true  metropolis  of  Dairy-land, 
crovnied  in  the  springtime  with  cowslips  and  daisies; 
in  summer,  a  gem,  set  in  an  expanse  of  waving  green; 
and  at  all  times  the  home  of  thrift  and  prosperity. 
The  malaria  which  the  hungry  office-seekers  looked 
forward  to  with  hope  disappointed  their  expectations, 
and,  to  the  amazement  of  all  beholders,  Lanesville 
continues  to  this  day  one  of  the  healthiest  towns  of  the 
Reserve.  For  the  town  itself,  three  words  describe  it. 
It  was  white,  level  and  rectangular.  A  faint-hearted 
rivulet  occupied  a  bed  marvelously  disproportionate 
either  to  its  force  or  volume  just  upon  its  outskirts. 
On  a  little  elevation  to  the  eastward  of  the  court-house 
stood  the  mansion  of  Boaz  Woodley  and  the  home  of 
Markham  Churr.  De?;pite  its  disadvantages  of  position, 
the  rows  of  lymphatic  maples  and  aspiring  elms 
which  nodded  to  each  other  across  its  streets  gave' 
the  town  a  rare  attractiveness,  and  those  who  had 
once  lived  there  could  never  be  persuaded  that  any 
other    spot    on    the    planet    combined    so    many   enjoy- 


348  ''  rmSTLES 

able    teaiuros,  or   w  is    so    desirable  as   a   siaiiing-i>oim 
to  "the  undiscovered  countr}'." 

This  home,  sanctified  by  love  and  made  beautiful  by 
care,  was  to  the  heart  of  Markham  C  hurr  the  Elysium 
in  which  were  realized  all  his  hopes,  and  where  he  saw 
the  fruition  of  his  fairest  dreams.  To  it  his  heart 
turned  ever,  with  expectant  longing  or  blissful  remem- 
brance, and  from  it,  he  was  wont  to  steal  away,  but  at 
brief  intervals  only,  its  rarest  jewel,  to  cheer  him  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duties  at  the  national  capital,  until  the 
war  was  over,  and  Boaz  Woodley  stepped  once  more,  or, 
rather,  more  perceptibly,  within  the  circle  of  their  lives. 


CHAPTER   XUL 

THE   T.  C.  R.  CO. 

TI 1 E  close  of  the  war  left  Colonel  Woodley  without 
V  cupation.  He  had  arranged  his  business  at  the 
be^itu\ing  so  that  it  should  require  as  little  of  his  per- 
sonal attention  as  possible,  and  during  its  continuance, 
chiefly  through  the  agency  of  Thomas  Horton,  he  had 
from  time  to  time  changed  his  investments,  keeping: 
closely  in  view  safety,  permanency,  and  a  minimum  of  per- 
sonal attention,  rather  than  the  mere  chances  of  profit : 
so  that  during  the  latter  part  of  the  strugsrle  he  had 
been  in  receipt  of  a  certain  income,  even  the  amount 
of  which  he  hardly  cared  to  estimate,  which  was  regu- 
larly re-invested  for  him,  under  his  direction,  it  is  true. 


rHK   T.  C\  A\   CO.  34f) 

hut  willioiit  liis  ;ittii;il  iiiUi  vcntion.  VVilh  this,  he  had 
also  iiivi'stL'd  in  Mnikiiain's  ikiiir-  tlit-  sums  vvhi(  1»  the 
young  officer  had  from  time  to  time  paid  fur  the  home 
vvliich  had  hccn  given  to  his  wife.  When  he  had  left  the 
servi('e,  however,  and  his  accounts  as  a  disbursing  officer 
had  all  hceu  sellled,  he  found  hiiiisell' afloat  in  the  world 
with  no  [)articular  business  to  cnj:,a^;e  iiis  jjowers.  lie 
could  n(jt,  and,  indeed,  had  no  inclination  to  return  to 
his  profession.  It  is  tiui:  that  the  name  still  i.inained 
above  his  office-door,  but  the  letters  had  grown  dim 
with  age,  while  on  the  side,  in  brijjht  gilt  letters,  was 
the  name  of  Markham  Chun.  TIkj  masterful,  self- 
sufficient  man  could  no  longer  feel  at  home  there.  1 1  is 
own  prevailing  personality  had  been  wont  lo  fill  its 
every  nook  and  cranny.  The  booIvS,  the  cases,  the 
grim  old  desk,  now  shoved  into  a  (orner  to  make  room 
for  the  trim  and  neat  arrangement  of  shelves  and  draw- 
ers which  served  Markham's  i)ur|)Ose,  were  old  friends, 
intimate.':,  part  (»f  himself,  as  it  were,  and  he  (ould  not 
but  feel  a  sort  of  jealousy  that  any  one  should  su])erse(le 
him  in  their  association,  even  though  that  one  should 
be  so  cherished  and  favored  a  friend  as  Markham.  So 
he  cast  about  for  something  to  fdl  the  void,  and,  looking 
still  to  those  whose  welfare  he  had  so  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  regard  as  a  sort  of  charge  upon  his  energies, 
he  conceived  the  idea  of  opening  a  household  establish- 
ment in  Washington,  which  should  be  nominally  that  of 
Markham  Churr,  who  was  rerpiired  by  the  events  of  that 
stirring  time  to  i)ass  the  greater  portion  of  the  year  at 
the  rapilal.  'i'o  conceive  a  plan,  with  him,  was  to  ex- 
ecute it.     So,  merely  broa<  hin^  the  matter  to   Markham 


350  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

and  Lizzie,  and  hardly  \yaiting  to  hear  their  doubts 
before  he  had  overruled  them  with  an  impetuous  dis- 
approval, he  had  said : 

"  See  here,  Markham,  and  you  too,  Lizzie,  you  must 
not  set  yourselves  to  balk  me  in  this.  I  will  be  plain 
with  you,  and  you  must  indulge  me.  I  am  an  oldish 
man,  but  not  in  any  manner  broken  in  body  cr  mind, 
with  an  estate  which  yields  an  income  greater  than  I 
can  expend,  and  which  I  have  no  reason  to  hoard  or 
increase.  I  have  no  one  in  whose  welfare  I  have  any 
wish  to  interest  myself  but  you.  From  a  sort  of  dogged 
wish  to  have  my  own  way,  I  have  devoted  myself  to 
your  interests  until  they  seem  my  own,  and  you  are 
like  my  children.  You  have  been  good  children,  too, 
I  will  say  that.  No  man  ever  had  a  better  son  and 
daughter,  or,  I  believe,  dearer  ones.  You,  Markham, 
have  responded  nobly  to  every  effort  I  have  made  for 
your  advancement,  and  by  every  step  you  have  taken 
have  made  me  prouder  of  you,  and  of  myself  for  having 
aided  you.  You  have  never  accepted  my  favor  as  a 
thing  of  course,  nor  asked  a  single  gratuity,  though  you 
have  often  been  certified  of  my  willingness  to  grant 
such  request,  Indeed,  you  have  not  unfrequently  com- 
pelled me  to  tlirust  assistance  upon  you,  and  have 
sometimes  almost  provoked  me  by  your  unwillingness 
to  receive.  I  have  often  wished  that  you  would  do 
otherwise,  though  I  see  now  that  I  should  have  come 
to  mistrust  and  perhaps  to  despise  you  if  you  had. 

*'As  for  Lizzie,"  he  continued,  as  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  head,  and  looked  into  her  tearful  eyes,  "  I  fell 
ii)  love  with   her  when   she   was  in  widow's  weeds,  be- 


THE   T.  C.  i?.  CO.  3^t 

cause  of  her  loyal  devotion  to  one  she  supposed  dead, 
whom  I  knew  to  be  alive ;  and  I  have  often  wondered 
at  myself  that  I  was  not  jealous  of  her  love  for  you, 
Markham. 

"Oh,  you  may  laugh,"  he  added,  "but  do  you  know, 
I  never  thought  it  possible  that  I  could  have  such  affec- 
tion for  any  one  who  did  not  regard  me,  Boaz  Woodley, 
as  the  be-all  and  end-all  of  their  existence.  I  find  that 
I  have  been  a  tyrant  even  in  my  affections,  and  have 
ever  scorned  the  tenderness  that  has  been  offered  me 
by  those  whose  devotion  I  regarded  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"  Novv,  there  need  be  nothing  further  said.  I  am 
an  old  man,  and  have  only  you.  You  are  young,  and 
have  each  other  and  the  life  that  is  before  you  You 
can  add  to  my  happiness  by  letting  me  edge  into  a 
corner  of  your  life.  I  can  add  to  your  comfort  by  that 
intrusion.  What  I  have  is  yours,  henceforth.  What 
you  may  have  I  will  make  mine,  and  my  s.hred  of  life 
will  be  all  the  happier  for  the  interest  I  shall  have  in 
yours  You  shall  be  my  son  and  daughter — you  are 
such  already  by  my  will — and  I — I  will  be  your  old 
friend." 

Only  quivering  lips  and  hearty  clasping  of  the  hands, 
with  filial  caresses,  and  tears  that  needed  not  to  be 
repressed,  could  answer  this. 

So  Boaz  Woodley  had  his  vv^ay,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  a  spacious  mansion  on  one  of  the  avenues 
was  fitted  up,  and  the  Washington  establishment  of 
Markham  Churr,  under  the  vratchful  supervision  of  his 
masterful   benefactor,  and   graced   by  his   accomplished 


2^2  ^-^^^  ^^^"^^    THISTLES. 

vvife,  became  one  of  the  centers  of  society  and  intel- 
lectual life  in  the  capital.  Whatever  heart  could  wish 
of  material  comfort  or  enjoyable  luxury,  Boaz  Woodley 
lavished  upon  that  household.  Whatever  of  watchful 
regard  and  tender  devotion  the  hungry  heart  of  their 
benefactor  could  d-esire,  they  lavished  upon  him.  Hap- 
pier wife,  tenderer  daughter,  prouder  woman  than  Lizzie 
there  was  not  in  all  the  land.  x\ge  never  proffered 
sweeter  repose  after  a  busy  life  than  that  which  waited 
on  Boaz  Woodley 's  declining  years.  Life  never  prom- 
ised a  fairer  harvest  than  that  which  had  its  roots  in 
the  eventful  past  and  showed  its  svrelling  buds  in  the 
fair  present  of  Markham  Churr..  Honor,  ambition, 
love,  and  wealth  never  found  a  worthier  trio,  or  lavished 
their  blandishments  m.ore  abundantly.  So  it  seemed ; 
so  said  the  Avorld ;  and  so  they  would  have  said  them- 
selves, but  the  rapture  of  unmeasured  content  filled  their 
hearts,  shut  out  the  future,  and  drove  apprehension  from 
the  threshold. 

Into  this  Eden  came  the  serpent ! 

In  this  wise  it  came  to  pass  that  he  found  entrance. 
Markham  Churr,  as  a  legislator,  was  a  hard  and  consci- 
entious vrorker.  Consequently,  he  soon  became  one  of 
those  on  whom  the  labors  of  different  committees  are 
cast,  with  a  full  consciousness  on  the  part  of  the  other 
members  that  they  will  be  done.  He  courted  labor 
rather  than  shirked  it,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  going 
to  the  bottom  of  questions  coming  before  him  for  con- 
sideration. As  chairman  of  numerous  committees  and 
sub-committees,  he  had  submitted  many  reports  which 
had  great  weight  in  shaping  important  legislation.     Not 


THE   T.   C.  J?.   CO.  ^:^^ 

un frequently  the  knowledge  and  experience  and  some- 
times the  great  perseverance  and  tremendous  power 
of  application  which  characterized  Boaz  Woodley  were 
of  the  utmost  value  to  the  young  congressman  in  ac- 
complishing such  results.  Especially  was  this  true 
when  the  question  under  consideration  was  some  intri- 
cate point  of  finance  or  of  commercial,  material  interest. 
For  such  questions  Woodley  had  an  instinctive  fond- 
ness. They  were  akin  to  his  own  life-Avork,  and  were 
of  that  solid,  practical  nature  which  he  especially  de- 
lighted in.  It  was  mainly  through  his  efforts  that 
Markham  soon  came  to  be  looked  on  as  an  authority 
of  the  highest  respectability  in  all  matters  of  finance, 
but  especially  upon  questions  of  Trade  and  Manufac- 
ture. In  searching  for  authorities,  compiling  and  com- 
bining facts  upon  such  questions,  and  deducing  from 
them  the  principles  which  should  control  the  force  of 
government  in  regard  to  them,  he  was  but  following  his 
natural  bent.  It  was,  in  fact,  but  the  theoretical  side  of 
his  practical  life.  Moreover,  in  relation  to  these  he 
was  himself  an  animated  compendium  of  those  facts, 
not  infrequently  of  the  last  importance,  which  are  not 
to  be  found  in  any  printed  volume.  More  than  once, 
while  Hstening  to  the  debates  in  the  House,  had  his 
little  pencilled  memoranda  enabled  Markhr.m  to  make 
some  of  those  ready  hits  and  demolishing  retorts  to  an 
ill-prepared  opponent  for  vrhich  he  was  rapidly  be- 
coming famous.  Woodley's  vast  knowledge  of  practical 
affairs  supplemented  admirably  his  favorite's  assiduity 
of  research,  and  gave  him  a  fund  of  illustration  and 
accuracy  of  detail  which  he  could   not   otherwise  have 


354  ^^^^  ^^^    THISTLES. 

acquired.  In  short,  as  Boaz  Woodley  had  conferred  on 
Markham  Churr  already  so  much  of  the  material  results 
of  a  life  of  varied  and  continuous  toil,  so  now,  with 
equal  readiness,  he  bestowed  on  him  the  intangible 
results  of  his  reflection  and  experience. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  with  peculiar 
pleasure  that  he  heard  Markham  say,  at  the  late  break- 
fast which  was  the  one  time  in  every  day  when  the  three 
members  of  this  happy  household  were  sure  to  meet 
for  an  hour  of  unrestrained  enjoyment : 

"Well,  Colonel,  I  have  a  job  on  hand  now  which 
will  afford  you  the  utmost  delight." 

'"Indeed,"  said  Woodley,  "what  is  it.?" 

"  I  vv'as  yesterday  appointed  chairman  of  the  special 
committee  in  regard  to  the  charter  of  the  T.  C.  R.  Co." 

*'x\nd  what  do  those  mystic  letters  represent.?" 
asked  Lizzie. 

"Track  across  the  continent,  I  suppose,"  said  Wood- 
ley. 

"Well,  very  nearly  so,"  responded  Markham,  smiling, 
"they  mean  Trans-Continental  Railway  Company." 

"What  do  they  want,  and  what  do  they  propose?" 
asked  Woodley. 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  want  you  to  find  out,"  said 
Markham,  "  as  well  as  whether  they  ought  to  have  it." 

"H'm!  That's  cool,"  said  Woodley.  "Have  you 
noticed  what  a  lazy  dog  our  Markham  is  getting  to  be, 
Lizzie  .?  You  do  the  bulk  of  his  correspondence ;  I  do 
the  big  end  of  his  thinking,  and  what  he  finds  to  do 
himself  I'm  sure  I  can't  make  out." 

"  Oh  !  he  makes  the   speeches  and  does  the  voting. 


THE   r.  C.  K.  CO.  T^cc 

I  understand  that  is  very  exhausting  work,"  said  the 
wife,  "especially  the  voting!"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Woodley,  "  no  doubt ;  but,  I  say, 
don't  you  think  that  next  time  we  ought  to  run  a  firm 
for  Congress,  instead  of  an  individual — say,  Markham 
Churr  and  Company?" 

"Perhaps  so,"  laughed  Markham,  "but  why  should 
one  work  at  all  who  has  two  such  willing  and  capable 
helpers?" 

"  Very  adroitly  done,  sir.  Flattery  is  always  grate- 
ful unless  it  is  put  on  too  thick,"  said  Woodley.  "Well, 
I  suppose  I  must  look  into  this  matter.  When  do  you 
have  to  report?" 

Markham  gave  him  the  date,  which,  with  his  accus- 
tomed method,  he  entered  ca;-efully  in  his  diary,  and 
asked : 

"Are  there  any  papers?" 

"Yes,  you  will  find  the  bill  and  a  large  mass  of 
printed  documents  bearing  on  the  subject,  in  a  hamper 
in  the  library.  Knowing  it  to  be  in  your  line  I  had 
them  brought  here  without   looking  into  them  at  all." 

"Well,"  said  Woodley,  with  a  confident  relish  of  the 
task  before  him,  "  I  will  take  hold  of  it,  and  soon  be 
able  to  post  you  as  to  what  is  in  it." 

His  words  were  but  too  true.  He  soon  knew  all 
about  the  Trans-Continental.  The  vastness  of  the  pro- 
ject charmed  his  masterful  brain.  He  grasped  at  once 
its  possibilities.  To  wrest  an  empire  from  savagery,  to 
baffle  climatic  forces  v/hich  seemed  insurmountable,  to 
pass  the  huge  barrier  which  had  lifted  its  head  and 
parted  the  waters  of  the  East  from  those  of  the  West, 


:.-6  FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

suited  the  daring  ruggedness  of  his  nature.  To  link 
ocean  v.-ith  ocean  was  a  grand  achievement  of  itself; 
but  to  project  that  line  through  the  wilderness  which 
the  foot  of  the  trapper  had  never  trodden,  to  climb  the 
mountains  vvhere  the  Indian  had  found  no  thoroughfare, 
to  defy  Boreas  and  conquer  the  desert,  and  then  to  fill 
the  silent  space  between  with  the  voice  of  many- 
peoples  ;  to  plant  thrift  and  prosperity  where  darkness 
and  barbaric  waste  had  been;  lo  join  mead  to  fallow, 
and  pasture-land  to  harvest-field,  till  towns  and  cities 
and  states  should  grov\^  where  now  only  desolation  and 
darkness  dwelt,  was  a  conception  of  such  magnificent 
audacity  that  Boaz  Woodley  yielded  at  once  to  its  fasci- 
nation. It  w^as  all  possible.  He  saw  that  science  and 
daring  and  self-denying  boldness  and  matchless  hardi- 
hood had  established  that,  and  in  pursuing,  step  by  step, 
its  demonstraiion,  he  forgot  that  his  thought  had  out- 
run the  present,  and  had  leaped  the  barrier  of  time. 

So  the  report,  which  he  in  the  main  prepared  for 
Markham,  pulsed  with  the  thrill  of  happy  augury,  and- 
caught  at  once  the  ear  of  the  House  and  of  the  nation. 
What  reward  was  sufficient  for  those  who  had  shown 
this  possibility  ?  What  terms  should  be  proffered  to 
those  who  offered  to  found  empires .''  Why  speak  of 
chaffering  with  them  ?  The  discoverer's  moiety  only 
was  fit  to  be  mentioned  to  such.  Not  less  kingly  was 
the  dream  of  the  prophet-minded  Genoese  when  he  set 
sail  into  the  Unknown  to  found  empires  for  Castile  and 
Arragon,  and  not  less  regal  should  be  their  recompense! 
So  said  the  committee  ;  so  said  the  nation,  and  so  the 
Congress  enacted ! 


THE   T.  C.  A\   CO.  3^y 

But  Boaz  Woodley  could  not  stop  with  what  he  had 
done.  The  Trans-Continental  had  entered  into  his 
soul.  It  was  not  greed,  nor  the  lust  of  power,  but  the 
ambiLion  to  do  still  greater  things  than  he  had  yet 
accomplished,  which  possessed  him.  The  thirst  of  the 
conqueror  filled  him.  New  worlds  to  subdue ;  new 
difficulties  to  vanquish  ;  new  marvels  to  perform,  were 
what  he  sought.  He  soon  knew  more  of  the  gigantic 
enterprise  than  its  projectors.  They  made  him  their 
head.  In  fortune,  .character,  capacity  and  experience, 
Boaz  Woodley  was  a  priceless  acquisition  to  the  Trans- 
Continental.  His  very  name  was  an  assurance  of  suc- 
cess. Difficulties  vanished  before  him.  Fortune  show- 
ered favor  and  success  upon  him.  It  seemed  that  he 
was  about  to  add  to  his  laurels  the  subjection  of  Tmie 
itself.  Already,  the  magnificent  domain  which  had  been 
looked  forward  to  as  the  seat  of  empire  generations 
hence  had  become  the  fast-filling  refuge  of  the  peoples 
of  the  Old  World.  Norwegian  and  Dane,  the  sturdy 
children  of  the  Vikings  of  the  Norseland,  flocked  to  this 
new  battle-field  with  the  Ice  King,  and  laughed  gleefully 
in  his  face  as  they  filled  the  dark  wilderness  with 
the  bustle  of  cheery  life,  and  grew  fat  upon  the  mar- 
velous harvests  which  the  brief  summer  evoked  from 
the  soil.  It  seemed  as  if  the  hands  upon  the  dial 
of  Time  were  about  to  be  moved  forward  a  century 
in  a  single  decade.  The  world  disgorged  its  hoards 
with  eagerness,  to  obtain  a  share  in  the  magnificent 
domain.  The  shares  of  the  Trans-Continental  were 
quoted  among  the  best  in  the  haunts  of  trade.  The 
oldest  and  wisest,  great  and  small,  believed  in  its  success. 


358 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


Boaz  Woodley  did  not  stint  the  hazard  which  he 
took.  What  he  had  approved  in  word  he  had  endorsed 
in  deed.  Whatever  funds  he  could  readily  control  he 
invested  in  the  Trans- Continental.  Side  by  side  with 
his  own  venture,  he  placed  the  fund  of  Markham  Churr, 
which  had  long  ago  outgrown  the  modest  price  of  the 
little  home,  and  was  constantly  coming  to  his  hands, 
and  as  to  wdiich  he  had  carte  blanche^  to  do  with  it  as 
his  judgment  might  dictate  for  the  ou'ner's  gain.  These 
funds,  however,  he  kept  strictly  separate  and  distinct, 
only,  sometimes,  anticipating  Markham's  capacity,  and 
advancing  for  him  the  funds  necessary  to  make  sub- 
scription for  shares,  charging  him— in  the  passion  for 
strict  accounting  which  had  become  a  part  of  his  na- 
ture— with  all  sums  thus  advanced,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  stranger  for  w^hom  he  acted. 

But  all  this  wondrous 'progress  was  not  enough  to 
satisfy  Boaz  Woodley  and  the  Directorate  of  the  Trans- 
'Continental.  They  sought  to  discount  the  future  at 
a  still  more  rapid  rate.  They  would  forestall  the  ages, 
and  crowd  into  a  day  the  labor  and  the  fruitage  of 
a  generation.  They  held  the  pledged  bonus  to  be 
invaluable,  leaving  the  work  out  of  the  estimate.  A 
king's  ransom  was  to  them  a  bauble.  Golconda,  and 
the  wealth  of  Ind,  were  but  the  usurer's  fee  of  the 
uncounted  possibility.  So  they  determined  to  pledge 
this,  in  order  to  multiply  their  wonder-working  power, 
and  hasten  still  more  the  marvelous  consummation. 

To  do  this,  an  amendment  of  the  charter  became 
necessary,  and  to  do  it  in  the  way  proposed,  the 
creation  of  a  new  company,  which  was  to  be  known 


THE   T.   C.  R.   CO.  359 

as  the  Railway  Construction  Syndicate  of  America.  To 
this  end  a  bill  was  drawn,  and  submitted  to  the  law- 
makers. Its  scope  and  purpose  was  to  make  the  Missis- 
sippi an  impassable  barrier  to  rival  enterprises,  and 
to  enable  the  old  company  to  pledge  and  hazard  to 
the  new  organization  all  that  had  been  achieved,  all 
that  might  hereafter  be  done,  all  that  it  had  already 
received,  and  all  that  might  hereafter  accrue  to  it, — 
as  an  unencumbered  security,  subject  to  ireedeemable 
forfeiture  upon  default — on  condition  that  this  Con- 
struction Syndicate  should  carry  on  and  complete  the 
herculean  task  within  a  certain  limited  time  therefor. 

The  plan  was  new  only  in  its  vastness.  It  was  the 
usual  scheme  of  him  who  perils  what  he  has  upon  the 
chance  of  w^hat  he  hopes  for. 

That  Boaz  Woodley  understood  the  peril  of  this 
movement  is  undoubted,  but  that  he  was  blinded  to  its 
probable  consequences,  both  by  his  belief  in  the  ulti- 
mate success  of  the  Trans-Continental  and  by  that 
clear  perception  of  a  remote  future  which  so  often  leads 
the  most  far-sighted  and  sagacious  to  overlook  inter- 
vening perils,  is  equally  certain.  However,  it  would 
seem  that — with  a  touch  of  his  old  caution,  and  by 
way  of  securing  a  share  of  the  new  profit,  if  that 
should  swallow  up  the  old — he  had  united  with  others 
of  its  projectors  in  a  contract  to  furnish  a  certain 
amount  of  the  capital  stock  of  the  Construction 
Company.  Perhaps  the  lust  of  gain  had  again  pos- 
sessed his  soul,  and  made  him  callous  to  the  means  by 
which  it  was  achieved. 

Engrossed  in  his  official  duties,  Markham  had  taken 


36o 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


little  actual  interest  in  the  grand  scheme  which  had  so 
absorbed  the  mind  of  his  benefactor.  As  the  months 
grew  into  years  after  the  passage  of  the  Trans-Conti- 
nental charter,  Boaz  Woodley  had  gradually  drawn  him- 
self out  of  the  happy  household  which  had  promised 
to  be  the  haven  of  his  old  age,  and  his  intercourse  with 
i^.Iarkham  had  become  less  constant  and  intimate,  not 
from  any  coolness  or  lack  of  interest  in  each  other,  but 
because  they  were  both  absorbed  in  divergent  lines  of 
thought.  The  interest*  of  the  Trans-Continental  had 
called  Woodley  av/ay  from  the  capital  a  large  portion 
of  his  time.  At  first,  he  had  insisted  on  Lizzie's  being 
his  companion  on  each  journey,  and  had  seemed  to 
reap  unmeasured  satisfaction  in  showing  her  the  new 
regions  which  it  would  open  up,  and  explaining  to  her 
its  wonderful  capabilities.  To  her  he  had  for  a  long 
time  confided  all  the  plans  of  operation  of  the  company, 
and  had  sought  her  counsel  and  assistance  in  the  per- 
formance of  his  duties.  As  these  operations  grew  more 
complicated  and  gigantic,  h)wever,  her  share  in  the 
labor  was  transferred  to  clerks  and  stenographers,  and 
he  became  so  absorbed  in  his  own  labors  that  he  forgot 
to  I'equire  her  presence  or  consult  her,  as  had  been  his 
wont.  This  association  with  the  fertile  and  masterful 
old  man,  admission  to  his  counsels,  and  participation  in 
his  interests  and  pursuits,  had  been  a  source  of  great 
pleasure  and  no  little  intellectual  profit  to  the  woman 
wiiom  he  delighted  to  call  and  treat  as  his  daughter. 
With  him,  she  had  visited  almost  every  -portion  of  the 
country,  and  had  become  familiar  with  its  characteris- 
tics, capabilities,  and  social  and  bu5ine:>s  life.     As  the 


THE   7\   C.  K.   CO.  35 1 

wife  of  the  eloquent  and  rising  young  Congressman,  and 
the  daughter  of  the  great  and  honored  financier,  all 
circles  opened  with  gladness  to  admit  her,  and  her 
native  sprightliness  and  amiability,  genuine  culture, 
and  unpretending  grace,  were  sure  to  confirm  the  wel- 
come she  received.  She  met  the  strongest  and  bravest, 
the  richest  and  highest,  the  brightest  and  gentlest — the 
best  types  of  the  race,  which  the  opportunities  of  our 
New  World  have  pushed  to  their  fullest  development — 
and  enjoyed  their  association  with  a  zest  which  only 
those  early  years  of  thoughtful  seclusion  and  ambitious 
dreams  could  have  given.  It  had  come,  too,  as  an 
antidote  for  a  great  sorrow.  Her  only  child  had  been 
taken  from  her  arras  almost  before  they  had  become 
accustomed  to  the  precious  burden,  and  she  had  seemed 
for  a  time  inclined  to  lapse  into  cheerless  melancholy 
on  account  of  her  bereavement.  The  busy  life  of  her 
husband,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  been  separated  from 
her  so  much  since  their  marriage,  as  well  as  the  fact 
that  she  had  never  taken  any  interest  in  merely  political 
matters  further  than  to  rejoice  in  her  husband's  success, 
no  doubt  tended  to  increase  the  readiness  with  which 
she  availed  herself  of  these  opportunities,  and  added  to 
the  enjoyment  of  those  intervals  which  she  spent  with 
Markham  at  the  capital,  and  the  halcyon  days  when  he 
could  snatch  a  respite  from  toil  and  they  were  permitted 
to  revel  in  the  enjoyment  of  each  other's  society  in  the 
quiet  seclusion  of  their  country  home.  By  this  life, 
while  they  had  lost  something  of  that  intimacy  of  knowl- 
edge which  only  uninterrupted  daily  association  can 
give,  the  husband  and  wife  had  unconsciously  preserved 


362  ^^GS  AXD    THISTLES. 

that  freshness  and  intensity  of  delight  in  each  other's 
society  which  is  usually  accounted  the  distinguishing 
feature  of  young  love.  Each  had  always  some  new 
charm,  some  before-unstudied  delight,  to  offer  to  the 
other  when  they  met,  which  had  prevented  satiety,  and 
excluded  the  commonplace  from  their  lives,  so  that  they 
were  noted,  among  all  who  knew  them,  as  a  pair  of 
married  lovers. 

When,  however,  the  care  and  attention  of  Woodley 
flagged  somewhat,  by  reason  of  his  greater  absorption  in 
the  Trans-Continental,  and  Lizzie  found  herself  unable 
at  once  to  interest  herself  in  the  labors  and  aims  of  her 
husband,  she  had  seemed  for  a  time  oppressed  by  the 
very  absence  of  something  to  engage  her  active  consid- 
eration. Having,  in  a  measure,  dropped  out  of  the 
intellectual  life  of  both  of  the  men  in  whom  she  had  so 
keen  an  interest,  she  was  able  to  note  their  divergency 
of  thought  and  character,  and  to  measure  the  gulf  which 
was  gradually  widening  between  them.  For  a  time,  she 
tried  to  bridge  it  over  by  striving  to  awaken  in  each  an 
interest  in  the  pursuits  of  the  other.  Failing  to  do  this, 
and  fearing  she  knew  not  what  of  evil  consequences  to 
arise  from  it,  she  had  wisely  concluded  to  strengthen 
by  every  means  in  her  power  the  ties  which  bound  them 
both  to  her,  in  the  hope  that,  if  what  she  feared  should 
ccme,  she  might  be  able  to  avert  its  consequences. 
More  than  anything  else,  she  had  always  dreaded  for 
IMarkham  a  conflict  with  the  man  who  had  been  their 
friend,  and  she  determined  that,  if  it  should  come,  her 
husband  should  find  in  her  no  mean  ally.  So  she  lost 
no   opportunity  to   minister  to  Woodley 's   comfort   and 


THE  T.   C.  R.   CO.  363 

pride,  or  to  bring  the  two  men  together  in  her  society. 
Did  Woodley  intimate  an  intention  of  spending  a  {^\n 
days  in  Washington,  he  was  sure  to  find  her  there,  ready 
to  devote  herself  during  his  stay  to  his  enjoyment,  and 
demanding  a  large  share  of  his  attention.  Did  he  seek 
a  little  relaxation  at  Lanesville,  he  found  her  there, 
making  the  home  he  had  bestowed  so  bright  and  cheery 
that  he  never  once  thought  of  opening  the  mansion  that 
stood  opposite ;  and  if  she  could  but  induce  Markham 
to  leave  his  duties  for  a  season,  her  efforts  were  at  once 
redoubled  for  the  happiness  of  both.  She  seemed  to 
have  a  vague  impression  that  through  their  love  for  her 
the  two  strong  natures  in  which  her  life  was  bound  up 
were  to  be  kept  from  ultim.ate  antagonism.  It  was  a 
fortunate  prescience. 

The  Christmas  holidays  of  18 —  were  drawing  near. 
Lizzie  had  not  gone  to  Washington  with  her  husband 
at  the  opening  of  the  session.  Boaz  Woodley  had  come 
to  the  capital  to  watch  over  the  interests  of  the  Trans- 
Continental.  He  had  been  absorbed  since  his  arrival 
in  arranging  for  the  passage  of  the  amended  charter. 
Markham,  equally  engaged,  in  the  duties  of  an  impor- 
tant political  chairmanship,  had  paid  but  little  attention 
to  that  which  engrossed  the  mind  of  his  friend.  Other 
m.embers  of  Congress  had  been  interviewed  and  courted 
by  Woodley  and  his  coadjutors;  had  been  plied  with 
argument  and  persuasion,  until  the  view  which  it  was 
desired  that  they  should  adopt  had,  it  was  believed, 
become  fixed  and  ineradicable  in  the  minds  of  the 
requisite  majority.  As  to  General  Churr,  as  will  appear, 
he  was  supposed  to  need  no  attention. 


364  P^GS  AXD    THISTLES, 

Markham  knew  that  such  a  bill  was  pending.  He 
had  read  it,  and,  looking  at  it  coolly,  had  thought  its 
provisions  unwise.  However,  as  he  had  not  been  con- 
sulted, and  was,  beside,  much  pressed  for  time  to  at- 
tend to  matters  more  peculiarly  in  his  immediate  line 
of  duty,  he  had  given  it  little  thought,  and  had  intended 
merely  to  act  upon  it  according  to  the  judgment  he 
might  form  from  the  report  of  the  committee  charged 
with  its  consideration  and  the  developments  that  might 
arise  in  the  debate.  It  had  not  even  occurred  to  him 
that  Boaz  Woodley  could  have  any  especial  interest  in 
it,  or  that  his  interest  might  be  contrary  to  the  dictates 
of  sound  policy  and  absolute  right. 

One  night,  just  before  the  matter  was  to  come  up, 
Woodley  came  into  the  library,  after  the  usual  flood  of  call- 
ers had  retired,  and  found  Markham  reading  the  report. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  with  evident  pleasure,  "I  am  glad 
to  see  you  reading  that.  We  have  both  been  so  busy 
that  I  have  had  no  chance  to  speak  to  you  about  it 
until  now.  It  comes  up  for  action  to-morrow,  and  I 
want  to  post  you  on  a  few  points  about  the  bill.  We 
do  not  anticipate  any  serious  opposition.  The  matter 
has  been  worked  very  quietly,  and  those  whose  interest 
it  might  be  to  oppose  us  have  not  yet  waked  up  to  that 
interest,  or  have  not  joined  upon  any  common  ground 
of  hostility.  I  have  taken  care  of  that.  There  are  a 
few  who  may  oppose,  but  they  have  not  studied  the 
matter  closely  enough  to  do  so  with  any  effect'  It  may 
be  necessary,  however,  to  have  a  few  speeches  in  reply, 
just  to  give  c'dat  to  the  thing,  and  in  order  to  prevent 
any  depression  of  the  stock. 


THE   T.    C.  R.   CO. 


365 


"But,  Colonel,"  began  Markham. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Woodley.  "It  won't  do  for  you  to 
take  too  active  a  part,  because  of  your  intimate  relations 
with  me.  It  would  be  said  that  1  put  you  up  to  it, 
and  all  that,  you  know.  It  may  be  fairly  presumed, 
however,  from  this  very  fact,  that  you  are  better  in- 
formed in  regard  to  all  matters  affecting  the  Trans- 
Continental  than  any  other  man  in  the  House.  This 
is  not  exactly  true,  because  you  have  been  busy  about 
other  matters.  I  have  not  let  on  as  to  that,  however, 
as  it  was  not  necessary  that  I  should.  I  can  put  you 
up  to  everything  that  is  necessary  to  answer  all  their 
arguments  in  a  very  brief  time.  It  has,  therefore,  been 
rather  tacitly  understood  that  if  there  is  any  fight,  after 
two  or  three  speeches  on  each  side,  you  will  take  the 
floor  and  just  skin  the  opposition  in  your  own  peculiarly 
happy  style.  That  is  your  foi'te,  Markham,"  he  con- 
tinued, laughing.  "I  think  I  would  rather  hear  you 
riddle  an  opponent,  when  you  know  your  ground  thor- 
oughly, (as  you  generally  do,)  and  he  has  been  going  it 
blind,  than  anything  I  know  of.  There  is  no  one  who 
can  begin  to  equal  you  in  that." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Markham,  smiling,  "but  suppose  I 
can't  do  it.^" 

"Cannot  do  what.?  I  tell  you,  you  can  do  it,  and 
you  must  do  it.     I  have  promised  that  already." 

"You  misunderstand  me.  Colonel,"  said  Markham. 
"  I  don't  refer  to  the  speech,  but  suppose  I  should  op- 
pose the  bill.?" 

"  Suppose  the  devil  should  turn  saint,"  laughed 
Woodley. 


366  ^JGS  AND    THISTLES, 

''Really,"  said  Markham,  flushing,  "I  do  not  see 
why  you  should  laugh.  I  do  not  think  the  bill  ought 
to  pass!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  Woodley,  as  he  stared  at  the 
Congressman  in  amazement. 

"I  do  not  think  the  bill  ought  to  pass,"  said  Mark- 
ham,  testily. 

"You  are  not  in  earnest,  Markham.?"  said  Woodley, 
still  gazing  at  him  in  wonder. 

"Indeed  I  am!" 

"  What !  You  think  of  opposing  that  bill  1  You 
have  not  read  it !" 

"  Yes,  I  have,  and  carefully,  too ;  and  the  report  of 
the  committee  upon  it." 

"And  you  mean  to  oppose  it.?" 

"Why,  certainly;  that  is  what  it  seems  to  me  I 
ought  to  do." 

"My  God  !"  said  Woodley,  as  he  got  up  and  walked 
once  or  twice  across  the  floor.  Then,  turning  abruptly 
upon  Markham,  he  asked,  in  a  low,  suppressed  mono- 
tone, while  his  face  worked  and  his  eyes  glowed  with 
excitement : 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  you  intend  to  do  so.?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Markham,  hardly  noticing  his  agi- 
tation ;  "  the  time  allowed  for  redemption  of  the  lien 
created  is  entirely  too  short." 

"Excellent!"  said  Woodley.  "Do  you  know  who 
drew  that  bill.?" 

"  I  do  not." 

"  The  President  of  the  Trans-Continental  Railway 
Company." 


THE  T.  C.  R.  CO. 


367 


"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  indeed!  I  suppose  you  will  allow  that  he 
ought  to  know  what  he  is  about?" 

"Yes;  but,"  with  hesitation,  "you  do  not  expect  to 
be  able  to  pay  the  debt  off  in  the  time  named?" 

"  Suppose  we  could  get  the  money  on  no  other  con- 
dition?" asked  Woodley,  hoarsely. 

"  Then  why  not  continue  as  you  have  so  well  be- 
gun ?" 

"  It  would  take  ten  years  to  complete  the  road 
through.     Under  this  plan  it  will  be  done  in  three." 

"Well?" 

"Well!"  said  AVoodley,  with  impatience.  "Here, 
can  you  not  see  that  time  is  the  essence  of  our  success  ? 
Look  here!"  He  drew  Markham  to  a  map  which  hung 
upon  the  wall,  and  swept  his  finger  over  it  rapidly,  as 
he  continued:  "While  we  are  waiting,  and  slowly  work- 
ing, a  road  will  be  built  from  this  point,  and  another 
from  this,  and  a  third  from  here,  all  sweeping  down 
and  converging  in  our  great  rival.  Then,  of  what  good 
will  it  be  to  complete  our  line  ?  The  country  which 
should  be  our  richest  feeder  will  have  been  tapped  a 
half-dozen  times,  and  sucked  as  dry  as  a  squeezed  or- 
ange." 

"  Still,  with  its  magnificent  domain,  the  road  would 
be  sure  to  pay,  in   time  ?" 

"  Probably  it  might,"  said  Woodley,  "if  it  could  hold 
out;  but  as  a  line  of  traffic  and  commerce,  it  would  be 
greatly  crippled  both  by  the  delay  and  by  the  failure 
of  this  bill  to  pass," 

"  But,  Colonel  Woodley,  it   would   not   be  right  to 


368  J^JGS  AXn    THISTLES. 

expose  the  stockholders  to  ahiiost  certain  loss  to  hold 
that  advantage." 

'"They  are  not  complaining." 

''Very  true.  I  cannot  understand  why  they  do  not; 
but  that  does  not  relieve  me  from  the  duty  of  trying  to 
protect  their  rights  when  I  see  them  thre^^tened.?" 

"  You  do  not,  you  cannot  mean  what  you  say,  Mark- 
ham.  You  just  do  it  to  try  me.  It  is  a  grim  joke. 
Only  say  it  is,  Markham,  and  relieve  me.  Do  you  not 
see  how  I  am  suffering.?"  and  the  great,  strong  old  man 
put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  younger  one  and 
looked  into  his  face,  with  a  countenance  full  of  beseech- 
ing. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  my  sense  of  duty  should  contra- 
vene your  wishes,  Colonel  Woodley,"  responded  Mark- 
ham,  firmly. 

"  Do  you  know,  Markham  Churr,  -vvho  has  the  great- 
est personal  interest  in  the  passage  of  this  bill?" 

"I  hope  it  will  not  affect  you  so  seriously  as  you 
anticipate,"  said  Markham,  anxiously,  as  he  resumed  his 
seat. 

"Oh,  do  not  mind  me.  Do  not  stop  to  consider  me 
at  all,  I  pray,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sneer.  "  Boaz 
Woodley  will  take  care  of  himself!" 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  Markham, 
coolly. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  show  a  great  regard  for  my  interest, 
considering  what  I  have  done  for  you — " 

"Colonel  Woodley, — "interrupted  Markham. 

"Don't  stop  to  protest.  I  don't  want  to  hear  your 
miserable  excuses,  but  I  wish  to  say  that  there  is  an- 


THE   T.   C.  R.  CO.  '369 

Other  besides  myself  whose  interest,  honor — aye,  whose 
very  life,  so  far  as  concerns  anything  that  may  be  worth 
living  for — is  bound  up  in  the  success  of  this  bill!" 

"  Indeed  !  and  who  is  that  ?"  asked  Markham,  with 
interest. 

"  That  man,  sir,"  said  Woodley— as  he  bent  over 
IMarkham,  and  shook  his  finger  in  his  face,  while  his  lips 
grew  livid,  and  his  countenance  was  distorted  with 
passion — "that  man,  sir,  is  the  Honorable  Markhain 
Churr !  " 

"What!"  exclaimed  Markham,  starting  up.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

"Ah,  yes,"  sneered  Woodley,  "you  are  alive,  you 
are  av/ake,  now.  When  only  Boaz  Woodley  was  to 
suffer,  when  only  the  man  who  has  made  you  what  you 
are  was  likely  to  go  down,  you  could  prate  about  your 
'conscience'  and  your  'duty.'  But,  now  it  is  yourself, 
you  begin  to  w4sh  for  explanation !  While  I  only  con- 
ferred favors,  while  my  brain  conceived  and  my  hand 
executed  schemes  for  your  advancehient  and  success, 
you  were  complaisant  enough;  but  when,  for  the  first 
time,  I  preferred  a^  request — even  when  I  ask  but  the 
poor  meed  of  your  silence — you  refuse  me  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and  only  prate  about  your 'duty.' 
Markham  Churr,  I  am  glad  I  have  found  you  out,  as 
the  base  ingrate  that  you  are." 

"  Stop,  Colonel  \Voodley  !  T  will  not  listen  to  such 
language  from  you." 

"Ah,"  said  Woodley,  "pardon  me;  I  had  forgotten. 
You  are  the  Honorable  Markham  Churr,  and  I  am  only 
Boaz  Woodley !     Our  relations  have  changed  since  we 


370  ^^JGS  ^^V"^    THISTLES, 

first  met !  I  will  be  mild,"  he  said,  hoarsely ;  "  but 
allow  m.e  to  say  to  you,  in  all  candor,  that  every  cent 
that  you  have,  and  a  liability  amounting  to  many  thou- 
sands more  than  you  possess,  is  dependent  on  the  suc- 
cess of  this  bill.  If  it  fails  to  pass,  you  are  a  beggar — • 
not  only  a  beggar,  but  a  hopeless  insolvent — and  Boaz 
Woodley  i?  your  creditor." 

''What  do  you  mean,  Colonel  Woodley?"  asked 
Markham,  in  amazement. 

^'I  miean,  sir,  that,  by  your  permission  and  under 
your  authority,  I  have  invested  for  you,  and  in  your 
name,  every  cent  you  have  ever  put  into  my  hands  in 
the  Trans-Continental  Railway  Company.  I  mean  that, 
acting  still  by  your  permission,  I  have  advanced  several 
thousand  dollars  to  secure  stock  yet  but  partially  paid 
up,  and  which   stands  in  your  name." 

"There  must  be  some  mistake!"  said  Markham. 

"Mistake!"  sneered  Woodley.  "You  well  know 
that  Boaz  Woodley  does  not  make  mistakes  in  matters 
of  business.  1  can  show  you  my  book  of  account  in  a 
moment.  It  is  true,  I  did  it  on  my  own  judgment,  but 
I  did  it  for  your  advantage,  even  as, if  you  had  been  as 
I  counted  you  then — my  son.  I  put  your  money  where 
I  put  my  own." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  I  do  not  question  your  motive 
or  sincerity  for  an  instant,"  said  Markham,  interrupting. 

"Oh,  you  do  not.?  You  know  me  too  v/ell !  But 
this  is  not  all.  The  day  you  open  your  lips  to  oppose 
this  bill — nay,  the  day  you  refuse  to  advocate  its  pas- 
sage— you  are  not  only  a  pauper — you  and  your  pretty 
wife  —  but    all    these    comfortable    surroundings,    which 


THE   2\   C.  i?.   CO.  271 

came  from  my  bounty,  will  disappear,  the  fortune  you 
have  no  doubt  anticipated  wiil  vanish,  and  15oaz  Wood- 
ley  will  be  your  enemy.  Do  you  hear?  You  have 
known  me  as  a  friend.  How  do  you  like  the  prospect 
of  having  me  for  a  foe.'*" 

Markham  had  sunk  into  a  chair,  and,  with  his  head 
leaning  on  one  hand,  was  gazing  into  the  fire. 

"I  shall  be  very  sorry,"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 

"  You  will  be  sorry,  eh  }  Perhaps  you  would  rather 
support  the  bill  V 

"I  wish  I  could!  God  knows  I  wish  I  could!" 
said  Markham,  in  a  voice  of  agony. 

"  You  s/iall  do  it,  Markham  Churr,"  hissed  Woodley 
in  his  ear,  "or  I  will  blast  your  good  name,  and  make 
you  an  outcast — a  thing  to  be  hated  and  despised  for 
all  time  by  all  good  men,  by  all  honest  men!" 

*'You  cannot!  You  dare  not  I  I  defy  you!"  said 
Markham,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"You  do!  Let  me  but  show  my  bank-book;  let  me 
but  trace  our  relations  for  ten  years;  let  the  fact  but 
be  known  that  all  this  luxury  was  furnished  by  the 
President  of  the  Trans-Continental ;  let  it  be  recalled 
that  you  v/ere  the  chairman  of  the  committee  who  first 
reported  in  its  favor;  and  then  let  it  be  hinted  that 
you  threatened  me,  that  you  tried  to  compel  me  to 
make  over  to  you  in  fee  the  bulk  of  the  estate  I  had 
already  bequeathed  to  you  by  my  will,  duly  executed, 
as  the  price  of  your  support  in  this  crisis  of  the  enter- 
prise in  which  my  fortune,  my  ambition,  my  all,  is  bound 
up,  and  who  do  you  suppose  would  listen  to  your  palter- 
ing professions  of  duty.?" 


372 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


"O,  God!"  groaned  Markham,  as  he  sank  into  the 
chair,  and  put  his  hands  over  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the 
dreadful  picture. 

"Do  you  understand  what  my  enmity  means?"  said 
Woodley,  quietly. 

"Yes,  yes!  Go  away!  Leave  me  alone!"  moaned 
the  distracted  man. 

Boaz  Woodley  went  to  the  door,  glanced  back,  half- 
pityingly,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  returned,  and 
put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

'"It  is  not  too  late,  Markham,"  he  said,  not  un- 
kindly. "  Only  say  you  will  do  Avhat  must  be  done,  and 
I  will  cancel  this  debt,  take  the  shares  off  your  hands, 
and  everything  shall  go  on  as  it  was  before.  Come, 
now,  remember  your  wife!" 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  young  man's  frame 
as  he  cried   out,  piteously  : 

"Go!  go!     Leave  me  alone  1     Let  me  think!" 

"  But  to-morrow" — began  the  other. 

"Wait  till  it  comes!"  said  Markham,  starting  to  his 
feet,  with  a  look  of  defiance. 

Boaz  Woodley  went  out,  and  left  him  to  wrestle  with 
his  agony  alone.  "What  shall  I  do.''"  he  cried,  as  the 
door  closed  upon  him ;  and  momently  through  that 
night  of  horror  the  question  rushed  through  his  crazed 
brain.  The  morrow  came,  and  found  it  unanswered. 
When  the  House  met,  it  was  found  that  the  sickness 
of  the  chairman  of  the  committee  would  prevent  the 
report  being  taken  up  that  day.  So  it  was  made  a 
special  order  for  the  first  Tuesday  after  the  recess. 


CH AFTER    XLIII. 

ENMESHED. 

CO,  with  this  burden  on  his  heart,  Markham  went  to 
^     his  home  for  the  Christmas  hoHdays.     It  met  his 
consciousness  in   everything.      When  he  looked   out  of 
the  wmdow  of  the  train,  he   saw   the  question  staring 
hmi  m  the  face  from  every  snow-draped  field  and  hill- 
side.    The  sound    of   the    train,  as  it   swept   over   the 
frozen,  ringing  rails,  shaped  itself  into  that  horrid  in- 
quiry.     As   he   neared  his   home,    every  familiar   object 
seemed  to  be  inscribed  with   it.     When   he  stopped  at 
the  nearest  station,  and  felt  his  wife's  warm  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  warmer  kisses  on  his  lips;  when  he  step- 
ped into  his  elegant  sleigh,  and  drove  his  splendid  bays 
along  the  beaten   road,  with  his  wife's  eyes  full  of  joy 
as  she  sat  beside  him,  and  her  tones  overflowing  with 
abounding   love;    in   her   sweet    sitting-room   at  home; 
at  the  faultless   table  which   awaited   him  ;  in   the  cosy 
parlor,  v.^ith  the  few  friends  familiar  enough  to  drop  in 
upon  him  even  at  that  early  hour  of  his  coming— every- 
where the  same  thing  confronted  and  pre-occupied  him. 
Neither  Lizzie's   bright  eyes    and  loving  w^ays,  nor  the 
congratulations  of  friends,  nor  home  comforts,  nor  fa- 
miliar   scenes,  nor    all    of  these    could    drive    from  his 
heart  and  brain  the  horrid  specter. 

It  was  terrible !     One  little  word  making  all  the  dif- 

373 


374  ^^G^  ^-^^^    THISTLES. 

ference  between  wealth  and  poverty — honor  and  dis- 
grace— and  (how  strangely  things  had  become  com- 
mingled!)  wrong  and  right! 

''Yes;'  or  ''Nor 

Three  letters  or  two.  That  was  all  the  difference — 
only  one  letter.  And  the  sound  1  One  was  thin  and 
sibilant !  Just  the  word  for  a  coward !  It  would  come 
easily  from  lips  which  dare  not  attempt  the  masculine 
strength  and  openness  of  the  other.  He  despised  him- 
self that  he  should  hesitate ;  and,  still  despising,  hesi- 
tated still! 

He  had  loved  honor  and  preferment  more  perhaps 
than  he  knew.  Place  and  rank  were  prized  by  him, 
as  they  indicated  the  esteem  of  his  fellows.  He  was 
proud  of  his  position  and  eminence  as  a  Congressman, 
chiefly  because  it  was  an  exponent  of  the  people's  re- 
gard. He  valued  the  good  will  of  all,  high  or  low, 
rich  or  poor,  good  or  bad.  He  disliked  to  offend  any  ; 
yet  his  regard  for  approval  varied  greatly  in  degree. 
Having  a  cultivated  judgment,  he  realized  fully  that 
the  esteem  of  the  good  was  worth  infinitely  more  than 
the  regard  of  the  bad.  He  said  to  himself  that  he 
loved  the  right,  and  did  what  was  right  because  it  was 
right;  but  it  may  be  doubted  if  the  approval  of  the 
best  and  wisest  had  not  quite  as  much  to  do  with  what 
he  considered  his  conscience  as  his  own  conviction  had. 
And  if  it  did,  he  was  not  the  first  who  had  deceived 
himself  in  this  regard.  The  approval  of  the  best  of 
men  is  no  ignoble  motive.  Indeed,  it  is  second  only 
to  the  highest.  He  that  puts  his  own  conviction  above 
that  of  all  his  fellows,  as  a  rule  and   guide  of   action, 


ENMESHED.  3y^ 

mny  be  strong  though  he  is  more  likely  ta  be  counted 
stubborn.  Besides,  it  is  an  amazing  piece  of  egotism 
for  a  man  to  hold  his  own  judgment  and  inclination 
higher  than  those  of  all  others.  He  may  be  right  in 
so  doing ;  his  thought  and  instincts  may  be  truer  than 
all  humanity  beside;  but  modesty  is  not  likely  to  be  a 
characteristic  of  the  man  who  believes  it. 

Such  men,  fortunately  for  mankind,  are  rare,  excep- 
tional, monstrous-  In  morals,  as  in  physics,  the  mind 
seeks  for  a  criterion,  a  standard  of  comparison,  outside 
of  itself.  In  determining  the  quality  of  an  act,  the 
mind  instinctively  measures  it  by  the  appreciation  of 
some  other  mind. 

What  will  my  friends,  my  enemies,  the  world  in  gen- 
eral, or  some  portion  of  that  with  which  I  am  directly 
related,  or  some  atom  of  the  universal  intelligence  whom 
I  revere  or  admire — what  will  these  say  of  it? — Is  the 
usual  gauge  of  action,  the  ordinary  measure  of  con- 
science. The  child  thinks  of  his  mother's  approval, 
and  his  conscience  is  appeased  with  what  will  secure 
it;  tlie  youth,  his  teacher's  or  sweetheart's;  the  man, 
his  wife's,  friends',  or  exem plat's. 

"  What  would  Cato  do  ?"  asked  the  Roman ;  and 
when  the  question  was  answered,  his  doubt  was  solved. 

Abstract  right  or  wrong,  as  a  standard  of  action, 
has  no  existence.  The  human  mind  may  speculate  on 
it,  but  cannot  use  it;  may  play  with  the  abstract,  but 
must  work  with  the  concrete.  Acts  are  measured,  and 
motives  adjusted,  by  their  fitness  and  harmony  with 
certain  characters  and  attributes.  The  highest  of  these 
standards  is  God,  from  whom   they  fall  away  in  swiftly- 


376  ^^GS  A  AD    THISTLES. 

diminishing  excellence  dov/n  to  the  lowest  of  bratified 
mortals  that  has  a  solitary  individual  lower  and  weaker 
than  himself  to  look  up  to  him. 

While  Markham  Churr's  ccnscience  was  attuned  to 
a  high  standard,  yet  it  was  infinitely  below  the  highest. 

Lizzie  saw  the  struggle  which  was  going  on  in  her 
husband's  mind,  though  she  did  not  know  the  cause. 
Rightly  regarding  her  love  as  the  one  link  which  con- 
sciously united  her  husband's  soul  to  thoughts  above 
this  world,  she  strove  to  freshen  and  brighten  that  love, 
in  order  that  it  might  be  at  its  best  when  the  final  strain 
came  to  be  put  upon  it.  Somehow,  she  had  a  convic- 
tion that  it  would  come  very  soon.  She  did  not  know 
why,  but  she  felt  that  the  struggle  she  had  so  long  feared 
— between  herself  and  Boaz  Woodley  (or,  rather,  be- 
tween the  two  forces  they  represented),  for  the  ascend- 
ency in  the  spirit  of  Markham — was  at  hand.  She  fore- 
bore  to  question  her  husband,  but  did  not  fail  to  seek 
strength  and  inspiration   from  the  highest  Source. 

So  she  clothed  her  face  in  smiles,  and  filled  her  eyes 
with  the  witching  gayety  of  the  olden  time.  It  was 
^trano-e  but  she  even  thanked  God  for  the  little  mound 
in  the  church-yard,  which  she  had  so  often  watched 
with  regretful,  almost  rebellious,  tears.  She  had  so 
longed,  so  fervently  prayed  for  a  son  who  should  bear 
his  father's  image,  who  should  unfold,  beneath  her  un- 
ceasing care,  all  his  best  traits,  and  whose  manhood 
should  be  a  noble  rival^^^  of  his  father's  heroism  and 
fame  !  During  the  terrible  dreary  days  when  her  Mark- 
ham  had  been  loaned  to  the  country,  and  was  doing  his 
knightly  devoir  on  the  field  of  battle,  this  was  at  first 


ENMESHED.  ^^^ 

lier  hourly  dream,  then  her  cherislied  hope,  and,  finally, 
her  pL-rfected  joy.  Oh  !  what  a  blissful  dream  it  had 
been,  while  her  husband  scaled  the  dangerous  heights  of 
Fame,  to  traverse  alone  the  perilous  valley  of  Maternity. 
Her  way  was  lightened  by  a  radiant  hope.  Fear  came 
only  as  fleeting  cloudlets  across  a  summer's  sky,  to 
make  the  brightness  still  more  enchanting.  She  would 
not  tell  her  hero,  lest  his  heart  should  feel  apprehension 
for  her.  She  would  show  him  that  she,  too,  had  some- 
thing of  heroic  stuff  in  her  soul — that  she  was  worthy  of 
the  soldier  arm  and  heart  with  which  she  was  mated. 
She  burned  to  let  him  know  the  tender  secret,  and 
her  letters  had  overflowed  with  sweet,  wifely  innuendoes, 
from  which  she  half-hoped  he  would  guess  the  truth. 
But  he  did  not.  He  only  read  right  on,  man-like,  ig- 
noring the  love-riddles  upon  the  pages  he  perused,  or, 
if  he  caught  a  hint  of  some  new  beauty  in  her  letters, 
it  was  only  as  one  unconsciously  catches  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers  which  his  foot  crushes  in  an  evening 
walk,  or  forgetfully  hums  the  refrain  of  a  familiar  air, 
unconscious  of  the  tribute  which  his  lips  pay  to  pleasant 
memories. 

So,  when  he  came  from  the  tented  field  and  found 
her  pale,  but  radiant,  and  saw  slumbering  in  her  bosom 
the  mystical  fruitage  of  their  love,  his  heart  went  out  in 
redoubled  tenderness  to  her — his  wife — but  gave  only  a 
formal,  half-jealous  welcome,  to  the  "little  stranger." 
His  heart  had  not  been  prepared  for  paternity.  Neither 
its  joys  nor  its  sorrows  could  touch  him  deeply. 

And  when,  after  a  few  weeks — quickly  and  pain- 
lessly, it   seemed— the  little  life  was  exhaled,  and  the 


378 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


little  mound  in  the  church-yard  reared,  the  love  which 
she  had  lavished  on  the  child  turned  gradually  to  her 
husband;  and,  as  year  by  year  had  since  elapsed,  her 
life  had  centered  more  and  more  completely  in  his.  As 
for  him,  his  love  was  undivided.  He  had  no  other  on 
whom  to  lavish  his  affections. 

She  thanked  God — now  that  she  saw  her  husband's 
soul  beating  over  dangerous  seas,  battling  with  deep 
waters — that  there  was  no  one  upon  earth  to  divide 
their  love.  She  thought  she  saw  the  hand  of  God  in  it, 
and  was  rejoiced  that  He  should  make  her  an  instru- 
ment in  the  great  good  for  which  she  hoped.  She 
believed,  too,  that  the  little  life  which  had  mingled 
with  the  Infinite,  the  fair  first-fruits  of  their  love,  was  a 
sort  of  offering,  which  would  incline  the  ever-open  ear 
yet  the  more  readily  to  her  prayer,  and  perhaps  be  the 
means  of  impressing  upon  her  husband*s  heart  the 
exceeding  beauty  of  the  promise  :  "  and  a  little  child 
shall  lead  them." 

So  she  prayed,  and  smiled,  and  prattled,  pouring  the 
precious  ointment  of  her  love  upon  the  feet  of  her 
lord,  and  forgetting  not  also  to  be  "  careful  about  many 
things,"  that,  perchance,  the  sweets  of  home  might  lead 
his  buffeted  soul  to  think  upon  the  restfulness  and 
peace  of  "  a  home  not  made  with  hands." 


CHAPTER  XLIV, 

DEEP    ANSWERETH    TO    DEEP. 

OO^the  days  went  on,  until  the   Sabbath  came,  and 
^^  all  the  people  crowded  to  one  or  the  other  of  the 
three  white-walled,  taper-spired  sanctuaries  which  stood 
about  the  square,  as  if  to  guard  the  public  morals  from 
the   taint   to   be  expected  from  the  court-house  in  the 
middle,  and  the  one  bar-room  of  the  town,  whose  owner 
had  the  amazing  temerity  to  put  it  in  point-blank  range 
of  all  three,  on  the  fourth  side  of  the  enclosure  in  which 
the   temple   of  Justice  stood.     To   one  of  these  plain, 
uncushioned  edifices,  as  severe  in  their  inner  decoration 
as  they  were  unattractive  in  their  exterior,  went  Mark- 
ham  and  Lizzie  Churr :  she,  to  pray  unceasingly  for  her 
husband,  whose   soul  she  was   then   certain  was   belea- 
guered by  some  sore  temptation;  and  he,  to  wonder  at 
her  simple  faith,  and  ponder  the  terrible  problem  which 
was  preying  upon  his  life.     He  began  to  realize  how  it 
was  that  people   became   insane.     His   thoughts  would 
run  on  nothing  else,  do  what  he  would.     All  the  time 
he   seemed   to    hear   that    dreaded    formulary  from    the 
Speaker's  chair: 

"The  question  occurs  upon  the  bill  entitled  'An 
Act  to  amend  an  Act  to  incorporate  the  Trans-Conti- 
nental Railway  Company,'  upon  its  third  and  last  read- 
ing." 

379 


38o 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


Upon  this  the  gentleman  from  calls  the  pre- 
vious question. 

"You  that  favor  the  call  of  the  previous  question 
will  rise,  stand,  and  be  counted." 

A  sufficient  number  up. 

"  You  that  favor  the  passage  of  the  bill,  upon  its 
third  and  last  reading,  will,  when  your  names  are  called, 
answer  'Aye;'  and  those  opposed  will,  when  their  namer, 
are  called,  answer  *  No.'     The  Clerk  will  call  the  roll." 

And  then  he  heard  the  stentorian  monotone  of  the 
Clerk  as  he  came  on  down  the  list  of  names  preceding 
that  of  Markham  Churr,  with  the  alternating  "Aye"  and 
"  No"  given  in  response. 

What  should  he  say  vv^ien  his  name  would  be  called? 

He  asked  himself  the  question  every  minute ;  and 
after  thus  repeating  it  for  myriads  of  times,  he  was  yet 
undetermined  as  to  the  answer. 

He  did  not  come  to  church  to  pray.  Perhaps  he 
would  have  prayed  if  he  had  known  how ;  but  the 
capacity  of  offering  petitions  for  aid  to  an  unseen  Power 
is  almost  lost  by  long  disuse;  and  perhaps  Markham 
Churr  had  never  in  his  life  really  uttered  an  articulate 
prayer,  a  genuine  cry  for  divine  help.  Of  course,  he 
had,  at  different  times,  used  formal,  stated  prayers ;  but 
a  prayer,  in  the  sense  of  an  outgushing  intercession  to 
the  Divine  Being  for  present-needed  help,  it  is  very 
doubtful  if  he  had  ever  uttered.  He  had  been  a  man 
of  the  highest  character.  No  suspicion  of  any  act  ap- 
proaching moral  turpitude  had  ever  rested  on  his  name. 
No  man  or  woman  could  point  to  any  promise  of  his 
lips  which  had  been  broken,  or  any  act  or  utterance  for 


DEEP  AXSWERETH    TO   DEEP,  381 

which  the  purest  ought  to  blush.  He  had  been  abste- 
mious ahnost  to  the  austerity  of  a  Rechabite,  both  be* 
cause  he  was  satisfied  that  it  was  beneficial  to  himself 
and  consistent  with  the  ideas  of  those  whose  good  opin- 
ion he  most  prized,  and  also  because  he  was  one  of 
those  natures  too  self-respectful  to  run  the  risk,  even  in 
insensate  ebriety,  of  being  the  butt  of  his  fellows.  He 
liked  mirth,  but  he  could  noj:  endure  and  would  not 
risk  ridicule.  He  had  always  attended  religious  ser- 
vices with  the  punctuality  and  regularity  which  had 
marked  all  the  habits  of  his  life.  It  had  become  a  part 
of  his  nature  to  do  so — not  from  any  particular  sense 
of  worship,  perhaps,  but  because  he  always  had  gone, 
and  because  those  whose  regard  he  most  cherished  did 
so  likewise.  It  may  be  said  that  this  was  a  cold,  un- 
worthy motive,  even  if  it  had  not  a  tinge  of  hypocrisy. 
Of  course  it  was  not  the  highest ;  but  it  was  Markhara 
Churr*s.  As  the  result  of  this  habit,  then,  upon  the 
last  Sabbath  of  the  passing  year  we  find  him  in  his 
accustomed  seat,  thoughtful  and  solemn  —  not  about 
things  divine,  but  about  himself  and  the  Trans-Conti- 
nental Railway  bill.  His  head  drooped,  and  the  cor- 
rugations upon  his  brow  grew  deeper,  as,  for  the  thou- 
sandth time,  perhaps,  he  stated  to  himself  the  question 
which  rose  ever  before  him. 

Should  he  choose  wealth,  applaiise,  and  shame;  or 
honor,  contempt,  and  poverty?  If  he  voted  for  the  bill, 
which,  without  much  doubt,  would  pass  in  any  event, 
it  was  more  than  probable  that  no  one  but  himself 
would  know  that  he  did  wrong,  or  suspect  that  he  vio- 
lated   his   conviction.     By  so   doing,   he   would    secure 


382  'fIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

wealth,  and,  if  it  Avere  ever  unfavorably  commented 
upon  at  all,  it  -would,  in  the  dim  future,  perhaps,  be 
counted  as  an  error  of  judgment  only.  On  the  other 
hand,  he,  Markham  Churr,  would  never  respect  himself 
again  if  he  yielded  to  the  temptation.  That  he  knew. 
He  would  be  always  conscious  that  he  deserved  the 
execrations  of  good  men,  and  he  felt  that  he  could 
never  again  enjoy  their  commendation  with  this  unwel- 
come self-knowledge  in  his  heart.  Above  all,  he  knew 
that  if  he  yielded,  he  must  forfeit  the  respect  of  his 
wife,  if  she  ever  learned  the  truth,  and  the  right  to  her 
respect  even  if  she  did  not. 

But,  then,  if  he  refused,  she  vrould  have  to  share  the 
poverty  and  shame  which  must  follow.  He  knew  that 
no  one  would  believe  his  protestations  of  innocence, 
however  vehement  and  indignant.  He  felt  that  ap- 
pearances were  all  against  him.  The  relations  between 
him  and  Boaz  Woodley — the  investments  in  his  name — 
no  denial  would  stand  against  them.  It  was  morally 
certain  that  the  bill  would  pass,  despite  his  opposition. 
Then  he  would  be  regarded  as  one  who  had  fostered 
and  encouraged  the  matter,  perhaps  had  reaped  advan- 
tages from  it,  and  had  finally  opposed  it  only  from  a 
failure  to  secure  such  terms  and  emoluments  as  he 
desired ;  or,  from  sheer  faint-heartedness,  had  deserted 
his  fellow-conspirators  at  the  eleventh  hour.  Either 
hypothesis,  he  well  knev/,  would  seal  his  fate  in  the  /'/th 
District. 

He  thought  if  it  were  not  for  Lizzie  it  v\ou]d  be 
easier  to  decide.  How  could  he  choose  between  the 
terrible  alternatives  ?     Would  it  be  easier  to  deserve  her 


DEEP  ANSWERETH    TO   DEEP. 


Z^Z 


respect  and  see  her  forced  to  yield  position,  wealth, 
honor,  or  to  become  worthy  of  her  contempt,  and 
retain  for  her  all  that  she  now  had?  Which  could 
he  most  easily  endure — to  impoverish  or  to  deceive  the 
wife  whose  fond  eyes  had  followed  him  everywhere 
since  his  return,  so  full  of  tender,  inquiring  care? 
Should  he  wrong  her  love,  or  submit  it  to  martyrdom 
— the  flame  of  suffering? 

All  this  was  constantly  revolving  before  his  mind 
as  he  sat  through  the  opening  service  in  the  little 
church.  Mechanically,  he  found  the  hymns  and  held 
the  book  for  his  wife  to  sing,  but  he  gave  no  heed 
to  her  look  of  anxious  solicitude  as  she  noted  his  ab- 
sentness  of  mind.  He  did  not  know  tliat  at  that  very 
hour  her  prescient  heart  was  wrestling  in  prayer  for  his 
imperiled  soul.  She  knew  not  what  was  the  cloud 
which  rested  over  him,  but  she  felt  that  there  was  one, 
and  prayed  without  ceasing  that  the  Friend  from  whom 
nothing  can  be  hidden  would  lead  him  safely  through 
whatever  evil  impended. 

So  the  prayer,  the  hymn,  and  the  opening  chapter 
had  passed,  and  Markham  Churr,  though  apparently 
attentive  to  all  that  occurred,  had  not  noted  the  fact 
that  a  stranger  sat  in  the  pulpit  with  the  pastor.  And 
now,  after  the  second  hymn  h-id  been  sung,  and  the 
congregation  was  again  seated,  and  quiet  had  succeeded 
the  bustle  which  runs  through  an  audience  when  it 
settles  itself  finally  to  listen  to  a  sermon  or  a  speech  of 
which  other  matters  are  introductory  or  ancillary,  he 
did  not  notice  the  tall,  spare  form,  and  countenance 
furrowed  as  with  care  or  sorrovv^  the  pale  brow,  and  over- 


384  fJGS  AXD    THISTLES, 

shadowing  eyes  of  lambent  fire,  dark  and  sad.  He  did 
not  see  the  uncertain,  half-agonized  expression  which 
swept  over  the  fine,  strong  face  as  the  speaker  rose, 
advanced  to  the  desk,  and  looked  over  his  congrega- 
tion. 

"  As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he,"  came  in 
clear,  firm  tones  from  the  preacher's  lips. 

Had  an  arrow  pierced  the  heart  of  Markham  Churr, 
he  could  not  have  started  more  suddenly,  nor  his  whole 
demeanor  more  completely  changed.  His  wife  beheld 
the  transformation  with  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  joy. 
Anything  was  better  than  the  cold,  absent  brooding 
which  had  clouded  his  eye  and  taken  the  warmth  from 
his  tones  since*  his  return.  This  was  her  Markham 
sitting  beside  her  now.  Awake,  alert,  attentive  to  some- 
thing beside  the  trouble  he  had  hidden  in  his  breast. 
She  could  not  help  watching  him  as  the  sermon  pro- 
ceeded. She  saw  his  eye  kindle  and  his  lip  quiver  as 
the  speaker  went  on,  yet  she  could  not  resist  the  con- 
viction that  his  .interest  centered  more  in  the  speaker 
than  in  the  matter  of  his  discourse. 

There  vrere  two  who  were  ill-prepared  to  join  in 
the  commendation  which  the  stranger's  sermon  elicited, 
when  it  was  over.  Markham  Churr  had  watched  the 
speaker,  and  his  wife  had  watched  him,  so  intently,  that 
they  could  not  at  that  moment  have  recollected  a  word 
of  the  message  that  had  been  delivered  so  effectively  to 
•  other  hearts. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Churr,"  said  the  old  pastor,  as  he  stood 
by  the  gifted  stranger  in  the  open  space  before  the 
pulpit,  "  allow  me  to  introduce  my  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr. 


DEEP  AXSWERETH    TO  DEEP. 


385 


Worthington,  of  Delhi,  Kansas,"  and  he  half  turned  to- 
wards his  ministerial  guest  with  the  air  of  a  connois- 
seur who  has  something  rare  and  exquisite  to  display 
to  a  congenial   spirit. 

"It  is  quite  unnecessary,  Dominie,"  said  Markham 
to  the  pastor,  as  he  proffered  his  hand  to  the  supposed 
stranger.  "  Mr.  Worthington  and  I  have  not  to  make 
acquaintance  at  this  time.     How  do  you  do.^" 

"You  will  excuse  my  left  hand,"  said  the  stranger, 
"  I  have  taken  to  using  it  almost  exclusively  since  we 
last  met.  Indeed,  I  think  that  almost  my  last  use  of  it 
was  waving  a  good-bye  to  you." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Markham,  "  and  I  understand 
now  why  we  never  met  afterwards.  But  now  that  you 
are  in  my  power,"  he  continued,  as  he  still  held  the 
other's  hand,  "  I  claim  you  all  to  myself,  and  shall  issue 
a  writ  of  tie  exeat,  to  be  in  force  and  effect  until  it  shall 
be  my  sovereign  pleasure  to  revoke  it." 

"  A  conspiracy,  a  rank  conspiracy !  "  exclaimed  the 
pastor,  "  to  rob  an  old  man  of  his  guest.  It  was  only 
by  the  merest  chance  that  I  met  Mr.  Worthington  in 
New  York,  last  May,  at  our  anniversary,  and  fancied 
him  so  much  that  I  invited  him  to  come  here  and 
preach  a  little  for  me,  when  he  could  run  away  from 
his  own  people  for  a  while.  He  finally  yielded  so  far 
as  to  agree  to  stop  with  me  for  a  few  days  on  his 
way  East  this  winter.  He  only  came  last  night,  and 
here  comes  this  youngster  and  proposes  to  take  him 
Z'l  et  annis.     I  won't  stand  it.  General!" 

"  Here  comes  Mrs.  Churr,"  said  Markham,  as  Lizzie, 
smiling   and    animated,    with    her    curiosity   piqued    to 


386 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


know  who  it  could  be  that  her  husband  was  holding 
so  long  by  the  hand,  and  talking  with  so  freely,  ad- 
vanced through  the  crowd,  exchanging  greetings  as  she 
came  up  to  them.  "  Allow  me,  my  dear,  to  introduce 
my  old  friend  Col.  Worthington,  whose  hand  I  resign 
to  ycu  until  we  are  both  willing  to  shake  it  for  a  good- 
bye. And  now,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  and  shaking  his 
finger  in  mock  defiance  at  the  pastor,  "I  defy  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  pastor,  "  two  to  one  makes  you 
very  brave.  I  must  give  up,  I  suppose;  but  I  want 
it  distinctly  understood  that  it  is  to  your  wife  I  sur- 
render, and  not  to  you." 

"  We  will  not  quarrel  on  the  terms,  but  it  is  v\'ell 
you  surrendered,  or  I  should  have  taken  you  both,  bag 
and  baggage,  to  our  domestic  camp  forthwith,"  said 
Markham.  "  As  it  is,  we  will  let  you  off  until  to-mor- 
row, when  we  shall  look  for  you  to  come  and  spend 
the  minister's  lazy  day  with  us." 

"  Day  of  rest,  my  son,"  said  the  pastor,  with  re- 
proachful solemnity.  "  Remember  that  is  what  hal- 
lowed the  Sabbath,  and  should  make  the  refraining  from 
labor  an  ordinance  commemorative  of  Deity.  '  God 
rested.'  The  law  of  His  rest  became  a  part  of  our  be- 
ing. To  rest  upon  each  recurring  seventh  day  becomes 
therefore  an  act  both  of  duty  and  of  praise." 

"  Well,  come  and  spend  your  '  rest  day  '  with  us, 
then,  and  bring  your  wife  also  ;  that  is,"  said  he,  bow- 
ing to  Lizzie,  "if  my  desire  be  consistent  with  the  will 
that  rules  at  Heart's  Ease." 

''Ah,"  said  the  pastor,  "what  do  you  say  to  that, 
Mrs   Churr.?" 


DEEP  AXSiVERETH    TO  DEEP. 


387 


"  That  it  is  well  for  his  happiness  that  he  did  not 
forget  the  condition,"  answered  Lizzie,  smiling  archly. 

"  Oh,  you  young  people  cannot  deceive  me.  I  have 
been  under  the  yoke  too  long.  I  know  you  will  rate 
the  General  soundly  for  asking  the  old  parson  and  his 
wife  to  a  whole  day  with  you." 

"  Nevertheless,  sir,  you  will  come,  and  you  shall 
have  a  pipe  and  smoking-cap,  and  an  easy-chair  in 
the  library,  and  anything  that  your  wife  will  certify  to 
be  for  your  good,"   said  Lizzie. 

"Well,  if  you  are  going  to  take  my  guest,  I  shall 
surely  follow   him,"  said  the  pastor. 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "I  really — I — have 
to  preach  to-night — and — " 

"Quite  useless,  sir,"  said  Markham,  "you  are  in  my 
power,  and   I  am  merciless." 

A  glance  of  peculiar  meaning  passed  quickly  be- 
tween the  two  men ;  but  not  so  quickly  as  to  escape 
the  notice  of  Lizzie. 

"And  if  I  comply  with  your  wish,  do  you  promise 
to  observe  the  compact  it  makes  V  asked  Mr.  Worthing- 
ton, with  a  smile,  but  not  without  an  accent  of  anxiety. 

"Impliciily,"  said    Markham,  seriously. 

"Well,  my  old  friend,"  said  Mr.  Worthington  to  the 
pastor,  "I  do  not  see — " 

"Oh,  I  am  quite  resigned,"  replied  the  latter,  "I 
foresaw  it  from  the  first.  One  might  possibly  resist  the 
General ;  but  his  wife  is  irresistible,  as  the  General 
himself  learned  long  ago." 

"It  was  wise,  then,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "to  have 
surrendered  at  discretion." 


388  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

"  Quite  providential,  I  assure  3^ou.  I  did  hope  to 
introduce  you  to  my  beloved  congregation  as  an  en- 
tirely new  specimen — a  proper  person  to  become  my 
successor — thus  making  a  merit  of  necessity,  and  secur- 
ing the  gratitude  of  both  people  and  incumbent.  But 
since  I  am  denied  that  pleasure,  and  you  and  the  Gen- 
eral insist  upon  being  old-time  friends,  I  see  I  have 
but  one  chance,  and  that  is  to  ally  myself  with  the 
enemy.  I  cannot  successfully  oppose.  So  you  may  look 
for  me — wife,  pipe,  slippers,  and  all — to-morrow,  Mrs. 
Churr,"  he  said,  with  a  courtly  bow,  as  he  offered  her 
his  arm  and  walked  down  the  aisle. 

"By  the  way,  Mrs.  Churr,"  said  he,  ''how  did  the 
General  come  to  know  this  Mr.  Worthington,  whom  he 
calls  'Colonel '  V 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered ;  "  I  never 
heard  of  him  before." 

"  I  was  full  of  his  praises  last  summer,  for  he  made 
quite  a  sensation  at  the  East,  and  spoke  about  him  in 
your  husband's  presence  several  times,  but  he  seemed 
to  have  no  knowledge  of  him.  This  morning,  as  soon 
as  he  spoke,  the  General  seemed  to  recognize  his  voice, 
and  never  took  his  eyes  off  him  afterwards." 

"  They  have  evidently  known  each  other,"  said  Liz- 
zie. 

"And  as  evidently  have  not  been  familiar,"  said  the 
pastor.  "Army  acquaintances,  I  suppose.  I  never 
heard  of  his  being  a  colonel  before,  though." 

As  they  came  out  on  the  porch,  he  added : 

"Well,  Madam,  you  would  better  secure  your  cap- 
tive.    Mr.  Worthington,  I   shall  look   for  you   to-night, 


DEEP  ANSWERETH   TO   DEEP. 


389 


remember — seven,  sharp.  And  then  you  will  have  hard 
work  to  keep  up  the  reputation  you  have  made  to-day. 
Good-morning." 

Lizzie  took  the  arm  of  Mr.  Worthington,  and  walked 
quietly  to  her  home  between  her  husband  and  his  friend. 
The  winter  sunshine  was  bright,  the  snow  crisp,  the  air 
biting;  and  somehow  Lizzie  was  happier  than  she  had 
been  any  day  since  her  husband's  return.  She  liked 
the  high-browed  man,  with  his  sad,  earnest  face  and 
deep,  dark  eyes,  the  perfect  counterpart  and  foil  of  her 
blue-eyed,  rich-bearded  husband.  They  were  fine  types, 
and  well-mated.  She  was  glad  to  stand  between  two 
such  magnificent  specimens  of  manhood^  and  call  the 
one  husband  and  the  other  friend.  Besides  that,  she 
had  a  blind  faith  that  they  were  mutual  antidotes,  and 
would  do  each  other  good.  So  sl:e  prattled  cheerily 
with  them  as  they  went  together  along  the  bright,  icy 
foot-path  to  her  home,  as  gay  as  the  snow-birds  in  the 
hedges  by  which  they  passed,  but  conning  over  great 
things  in  the  little  heart  made  wise  and  strong  by 
abounding  love. 


CHAPTER   XLV, 

PRECEPT    VS.    PRACTICE. 


A  FTER  the  plain  Sunday  dinner,  the  two  men  re- 
-^^^  tired  to  the-  library,  and  were  closeted  together 
until  it  was  time  for  tea — for  the  prosperity  of  Mark- 
ham  Churr  had  not  changed  the  old  order  of  his  house- 


390  PIG^  ^^^    THISTLES. 

hold.  An  early  breakfast,  dinner  about  midday  and  tea 
at  five  o'clock — when  all  the  rustic  Northwest  sips — ■ 
was  the  order  of  the  day  by  proclamation  of  the  sover- 
eign of  the  house.  Unlike  the  bulk  of  their  neighbors, 
hovv^ever,  this  order  was  not  varied  on  the  Sabbath. 

When  Lizzie  went  into  the  library  to  call  the  clois- 
tered gentlemen  to  this  meal,  she  found  the  preacher 
with  the  military  title  striding  up  and  down  the  room, 
with  a  look  of  pain  upon  his  face  which  for  a  moment 
made  her  forget  the  cloud  v/hich  had  hung  over  her 
husband  so  long.  Markham  was  sitting  by  the  grate, 
looking  at  his  friend  with  an  expression  of  irritation, 
and  his  voice  had  a  half-angry  tone  as  he  said — just  as 
she  opened  the  door,  for  neither  had  seemed  to  hear  her 
light  knock: 

"  Remember,  'Asa  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is 
he.'" 

"  Don't,  don't.  General,"  said  the  other,  in  a  tone  of 
agony. 

"  Don't !  Why  not .?  Do  you  suppose  all  the  sense 
and  truth  you  preach  is  for  others  only,  and  none  of  it 
for  yourself.''"  her  husband  replied. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,"  said  Lizzie,  bright- 
ly, from  the  threshhold,  ''but  I  thought  you  must  be 
faint,  and  as  you  would  pay  no  attention  to  my  knock,  I 
was  fain  to  open  the  door  and  announce  that  tea  is 
ready." 

She  made  a  mock  courtesy  to  hide  her  embarrass- 
ment, while  her  husband  sprang  up,  and  said,  cheerfully : 

"  I  declare,  wife,  you  don't  mean  to  say  it  is  five 
o'clock,  do  you?" 


PRECEPT    VS.    PRACTICE.  3^1 

"As  if  tea  were  ever  served  at  any  other  hour  in 
this  household,  sir!  Unless,  indeed,"  she  added,  saucily, 
"I  had  fallen  asleep  alone  in  the  parlor." 

"  I  turn  her  over  to  you,  Worthington,"  said  Mark- 
ham,  pleasantly.  "  I  make  it  a  point  of  honor  never  to 
apologize  to  my  wife,  no  matter  how  much  I  am  in 
fault." 

"The  best  evidence  of  penitence  is  a  willingness  to 
reform  our  conduct,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  bowing  to 
Lizzie  and  offering  her  his  arm.  "  So  I  surrender  ray- 
self  to  your  guidance,  to  be  led  whithersoever  you  will." 

"H'm!"  said  the  General,  as  he  followed  them 
from  the  library,  "  that  will  do  very  well  for  ?.n  un- 
married man  to  say." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  to  understand  that  you  are  a 
bachelor,  Mr.  Worthington,"  said  Lizzie,  as  they  took 
their  seats  at  the  tea-table. 

*•  Unfortunately,  that  is  my  condition,"  he  replied. 

"Unfortunately!"  said  Markham,  warmly.  "Why 
don't  you  tell  the  truth,   and  say  'foolishly.?'" 

"  Now,  General,  remember  our  compact,"  replied 
Mr.  Worthington,  beseechingly. 

"  Well,  I  will.  You  shall  not  hear  another  word 
from  me  on  the  forbidden  theme." 

"  Really,  gentlemen,  I  thought  you  had  had  time  to 
have  finished  your  enig.nas  before  this,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  Well,"  said  her  husband,  laughing,  "  I  will  have  no 
more  to  do  with  him.  I  leave  hmi  to  you  from  this 
time  forth.  I  won't  even  go  and  hear  him  preach  to- 
night, lest  I  should  quarrel  with  him  in  the  pulpit." 

So  when  the  meal  was  ended,  and  the  prancing  bays 


392  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

were  driven  to  the  door,  attached  to  the  airy  sleigh 
which  slipped  and  squeaked  on  the  snow  as  if  im- 
patient to  feel  the  impetus  of  the  restless  feet  before  it, 
Markham  told  his  wife  and  their  guest  that  he  would 
leave  them  to  go  to  church  alone  while  he  went  and  dis- 
sipated his  spite  at  the  latter's  obstinacy  by  a  drive. 

Perhaps,  he  said,  he  would  be  around  in  time  to 
bring  them  home  when  the  services  were  over.  He 
would  listen  to  no  protestations.  He  had  promised  a 
friend  that  night,  and  go  he  must. 

So  he  drove  leisurely  down  the  street  till  he  came  to 
where  the  road  from  Aychitula  crossed  it.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  northward,  pulled  his  fur  cap  well  over 
his  ears,  tucked  the  robe  close  about  him,  and,  tighten- 
ing the  reins,  settled  the  restive  bays  down  to  steady 
work. 

His  blue  eyes  glistened  with  delight,  and  he  shook 
his  tawny  beard  in  the  face  of  the  fierce  north  wind 
with  defiant  glee.  He  laughed  and  chatted  to  himself 
in  broken  bits  as  he  drove  out  of  the  village. 

"Twelve  miles  and  back!"  he  said.  "If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  before  the  parson  gets  to  the  doxology  I  shall 
have  applied  his  sermon  of  to-day,  and  be  waiting  at 
the  church-door  to  whisk  him  and  Lizzie  home  in  a 
trice !  I  am  half-sorry  I  did  not  let  the  darling  know 
my  idea.  But  then,  no  matter,  she  will  know  in  time, 
if  I  am  right.  If  I  am  not,  then  I  am  the  only  one 
fooled!" 

As  he  passed  through  the  desolate  swamp  which  lay 
between  LanesvIUe  and  Aychitula,  his  spirit  seemed  to 
take  on  something  of  doubt  from  his  surroundings,  and 


PRECEPT    VS.    PRACTICE.  3^^ 

he  discoursed  less  gayly  to  himself.  The  icicles  had 
gathered  on  his  moustache  by  this  time,  and  the  sleek 
bays  were  showing  great  patches  of  frost  upon  their 
flanks.  The  buckles  of  the  harness  had  condensed  the 
moisture  from  their  steaming  nostrils,  and  every  one  was 
plated  with  a  coating  of  hoar-spines,  which  no  art  in 
metallurgy  could  rival. 

Markham's  feet  were  stinging  cold,  and  the  lobes  of 
his  ears  tingled  as  if  elfin  hands  were  piercing  them 
with  crystal  blades. 

"If  I  should  be  on  a  fool's  errand,  after  all!"  he 
muttered;  and  he  kicked  the  dashboard  viciously.  The 
steady  trot  of  the  horses  now  died  down  into  a  dull, 
reverberant  walk  while  they  drew  the  grating  runners 
down  the  face  of  a  northward-sloping  hill  where  the 
sharp  lake  wind  had  swept  the  roughly-frozen  surface 
bare.  "  I  declare,  I've  half  a  mind  to  drop  the  idea, 
and  go  back  !  What  business  is  it  of  mine,  after  all } 
And  then,  suppose" —  His  face  grew  hot,  in  the  very 
teeth  of  the  norther  which  whistled  about  his  ears,  at 
the  thought  which  crossed  his  mind.  *'  By  George!  I've 
a  mind  to  turn  back." 

He  pulled  up  the  horses,  who  looked  around  in 
wonder  at  the  command  to  stop  upon  the  bleak  hillside, 
and  scanned  doubtfully  the  gray  north,  where  the  mid- 
winter twilight  hung  like  a  leaden  veil  athwart  the  sky, 
shutting  out  the  starry  brightness  of  the  coming  night, 
and  seeming  like  the  frozen  pall  of  a  dying  day.  He 
sat  irresolute  a  few  moments,  then  turned  his  horses 
slowly  half-way  round.  The  light  sleigh  bounced  about, 
and    the    steel    runners    grated    harshly    on    the    frozen 


394  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

knobs.  The  horses  laid  back  their  ears,  and  bit  at  each 
other,  as  if  they  felt  the  uncertainty  and  doubt  in  the 
mind  of  their  driver,  and  resented  it.  Suddenly  he 
stopped,  with  the  horses  standing  square  across  the 
road,  and  meditated  again.     Then,  impulsively — 

"  Pshaw!"  said  he.  "I  have  come  five  miles,  and  I 
am  not  going  back  till  I  know  whether  I  am  right  or 
wrong  !" 

He  wheeled  the  horses  sharply  into  the  road,  touched 
them  with  his  long  whip,  and  did  not  draw  rein  again 
until  he  was  going  down  the  long  hill  into  The  Gulf, 
where  he  had  gone  to  think  that  summer's  day  before 
he  linked  his  fate  with  Boaz  Woodley. 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly  now,  and  the  white 
snow-carpet  was  lighted  up  with  a  thousand  sparkling 
star-shapes,  which  relieved  the  whiteness  with  ever- 
changing  lights.  The  gems  that  deck  the  brow  of  win- 
ter were  scattered  on  every  hand  in  lavish  profusion. 
The  thick  hemlocks  were  loaded  with  radiant  diamond- 
dust.  A  frightened  night-bird,  flying  through  the  clus- 
tering branches,  loosened  a  shower  of  pearly  spray, 
which  fell,  glimmering  and  gleaming  like  a  silver  cas- 
cade, to  the  ground.  The  breath  of  the  horses  rose  in 
a  filmy  cloud  about  their  heads;  the  harness  creaked 
and  rattled ;  the  frozen  snow  squeaked  beneath  the 
runners ;  and  the  tramp  of  the  horses  echoed  sharp  and 
clear  from  the  cliff  on  the  other  side.  They  crossed 
the  little  stream  beside  which  Markham  had  sat  and 
pondered  when  his  fate  was  fixed.  He  heard  the  little 
waterfall  above,  and  saw  the  vast  white  berg  which  the 
long    cold    had    formed    from    its    rills    and    spray,  and 


PRECEPT    VS.    PRACTICE.  ^qc 

through  whose  crevices  its  waters  still  found  their  icy 
way  to  the  fettered  pool  below. 

He  found  himself  growing  doubtful  and  meditative 
again,  but,  as  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  shook  ' 
the  reins  to  his  horses,  and  in  ten  minutes  more  was 
dashing  through  the  street  of  Aychitula. 

The  church- bell  was  just  sounding  for  the  evening 
service,  and  the  windows  of  the  shutterless,  uncurtained 
church-edifice  were  aglow  with  the  steady,  yellow  light 
which  seemed  so  full  of  warmth  to  the  chilled  traveler 
without.  Streams  of  church-goers  were  coming  from 
the  houses,  swarming  along  the  -streets,  full  of  life  and 
vivacity,  and  entering  the  church  with  much  stamping 
and  shaking.  Markham  had  to  turn  out  of  the  beaten 
track  to  let  the  villagers  pass.  He  let  his  horses  walk, 
and  peered  curiously  into  the  faces  of  the  passers-by. 
Suddenly  there  came  opposite  him  a  trim  figure,  in 
ample  mufflings,  with  a  glowing  face  looking  out  from 
the  meshes  of  an  encircling  cloud. 

"Amy!"  he  said. 

The  trim  figure  started,  looked  at  him  inquiringly, 
and  then  said,  heartily : 

"I  declare!     General  Churr!     How  do  you  do?" 

"I  thought  it  was  you,"  he  said,  complacently,  pay- 
ing no  heed  to  her  question. 

"And  you — how  do  you  come  to  be  here.?"  she 
asked. 

Get  in,"  said  he,  lifting  the  robe,  and  making  room 
for  her  beside  him. 

"But  I  am  going  to  church,"  said  she,  laughing. 
"That  depends,"  he  replied,  significantly,  "on  your 


396  ^  :        ^^GS  ^"^^^D    THISTLES. 

ability  to  resist  temptation  in  the  form  of  a  snug  cutter 
and  a  good  span." 

"Which  you  know  I  never  could  do,"  she  said, 
frankly,  as  she  stepped  into  the  sleigh  and  was  snugly 
tucked  up  in  the  w^arm  robes.  "And  now,"  she  said, 
as  they  started  on,  "  I  want  to  know  what  all  this 
means." 

"  I  came  over  on  purpose  to  see  you,"  said  Mark- 
ham,  hesitatingly. 

"  I  inferred  as  much,"  she  said.  "  But  why  did  you 
wish  to  see  me  .^" 

Markhara  hesitated.  They  were  driving  eastward, 
and  the  full  moon  shone  clear  and  bright  on  the  fair, 
frank  face  beside  him.  He  turned  and  Vv-atched  it 
keenly,  as  he  said : 

"Amy,  vWll  you  trust  me.?'* 

She  looked  at  him  in  unshrinking  surprise,  and 
echoed  : 

"Trust  you?"  Then,  with  a  demure  coquetry,  she 
added,  with  sparkling  eyes : 

"I  hope  your  horses  are  not  dangerous." 

"As  if  it  mattered  to  Amy  Levis  whether  a  horse 
v»-ere  gentle  or  vicious !"  he  replied,  with  ihcredulous 
emphasis. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  I  have  quite  reformed,"  she  an- 
swered, quickly.  "I  have  not  shocked  the  proprieties 
by  a  runaway  or  a  smash-up  in  quite  an  age." 

"Ah!  I  congratulate  whoever  is  destined  to  be  your 
husband !" 

"Thank  you,  for  him.  He  will  need  your  sym- 
pathy." 


PRECEPr    vs.   PRACTICE.  3(^7 

"  Better  give  me  his  name,  and  let  me  deliver  it 
myself." 

"  No,  thanks.  He  is  a  very  bashful  youth,  and  a 
third  party  would  afflict  him  terribly." 

"Then  you  will  not  trust  me,  Amy.?"  he  asked,  with 
a  meaning  emphasis. 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  replied : 

"  You  know  I  would,  if  I  had  anything  to  confide." 

"  Will  you  answer  as  frankly  whatever  questions  I 
may  ask.?"  he  inquired,  earnestly. 

"  Why,  Markham  Churr  !  You  know  I  have  always 
been  as  frank  with  you  as  with  a  brother!" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  wish  to  be  sure  that  you  will  be  as  frank 
with  me,  and  as" — he  stopped  the  horses  and  turned 
towards  her — "  as  truthful  as  if  life  and  death  hung  on 
your  words.     Will  you  do  it.?" 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  amazement,  perhaps 
in  terror,  at  his  excitement. 

"Will  you  do  it.?"  he  repeated,  still  more  earnestly. 

"I  will." 

"Amy  Levis,  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question."  He 
leaned  forward  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

In  the  bright  moonlight  he  saw  a  burning  flush 
flame  over  her  fair  face  before  it  was  hidden  in  the  robe. 

"  Well  ?"  he  said,  inquiringly.     There  was  no  answer. 

"Well.?"  he  repeated. 

"Why  do  you  ask.?"  came  from  the  muffled  face. 

"You  said  you  would  trust  me." 

She  raised  her  head  and  said,  earnestly : 

"  So  I  will — more  than  I  ever  trusted  human  being. 
Yes,  I  do!'' 


393 


FJGS  AND    THISTLES. 


"All  right!"  said  Markham,  joyfully,  as  he  turned 
the  sleigh,  and  started  back  the  way  they  had  come. 

"Now,  Markham,"  she  said,  entreatingly.  "Why 
did  you  ask?     Please  tell  me." 

"See,  here,  Amy,"  he  answered,  laughing  gayly. 
"  You  are  to  ride  twelve  miles  Avith  me  to-night,  and  I 
am  not  going  to  answer  a  single  question  touching  this 
matter.  So  either  you  must  drop  it,  or  we  shall  have 
a  dull  time  !'' 

"  Polite,  indeed !  Without  so  much  as  by  your 
leave!" 

"  Hang  .  the  leave  !  Here  is  your  father's !  Tell 
them  Lizzie  has  sent  for  you  !  '  When  will  I  bring  you 
back.?'  Whenever  you  choose  to  come!  See  that  you 
don't  cheat  yourself,  my  lady  !  Quick  nov/ — wrap  up  a 
little  warmer;  say  good-bye;  and  be  back  here  in  two 
minutes !" 

"But  how  long  do  you  think  you  will  keep  me.?"  she 
said,  laughing  at  his  inipetuosity. 

"A  day — a  week — a  month — forever!  How  can  I 
measure  a  woman's  whims.?  Your  liking  may  be  long 
or  short." 

"But  I  must  take  some  clothes!" 

"Clothes!  Fudge!  As  if  you  and  Lizzie  had  not 
broken  hearts  in  each  other's  clothes  times  without 
number.     I  can't  wait  for  any  fussing.'* 

"Well,  well,"  she  laughed  back  as  she  ran  up  the 
path  toward  the  house.     "I'll  be  there  in  a  minute." 

Markham  ran  back  and  forth  on  the  hard-beaten 
path,  as  far  as  his  lines  would  allow,  slapping  his  hands, 
and  rubbing  his  ears,  while  he  shouted  his  greetings  and 


PRECEPT    VS.   PRACTICE.  399 

excuses  to  Amy's  father  and  mother,  who  urged  him  to 
come  in  and  get  warm.  Finding  it  useless  to  try  to  per- 
suade him,  they  helped  Amy  in  her  preparations,  and 
soon  the  never-failing  jugs  of  hot  water  were  packed  in 
the  bottom  of  the  sleigh,  and,  closely  hooded  and 
wrapped  in  furs,  Amy  Levis  was  whisking  away  to 
Lanesville  beside  Markham  Churr — for  reasons  and  a 
purpose  which  suited  him.  As  Amy  had  said,  she 
trusted  her  companion  implicitly.  She  believed  that 
the  journey  was  planned  for  her  happiness,  and  her 
spirits  rose  v/onderfuUy  As  for  Markham,  he  was  in 
the  most  extravagant  of  moods,  and  nothing  but  the 
•  cold,  bright  weather  would  have  excused,  in  that  staid 
region,  the  laughter  and  jollity  of  that  Sunday  evening's 
ride.  The  dwellers  in  that  bleak  clime  know  that  mirth 
is  a  great  enemy  of  cold,  and  festivity  that  would  of- 
fend all  upon  a  summer  Sabbath  disturbs  no  one  on 
a  winter  Sunday. 

As  they  neared  Lanesville,  both  agreed  that  they 
had  never  ridden  the  distance  so  pleasantly  and  quickly. 
If  the  opinion  of  the  bays  had  been  taken,  they  would 
probably  have  confirm.ed  the  verdict. 

"  Now,  Amy,"  said  Markham,  as  he  handed  her  out 
at  his  door,  "  go  into  the  library  and  make  yourself  at 
home,  while  I  drive  to  the  church  and  get  the  family. 
You  will  find  a  fire,  and  the  girl  will  attend  to  your 
wants." 

And  away  he  drove  to  the  church,  which  he  reached 
just  as  the  congregation  were  coming  out.  Giving  the 
preacher  the  seat  behind  him,  he  took  his  wife  upon 
his  knees,  and,  handing  her  the  reins,  talked  incessantly 


400  FIGS  ^-^^D    THISTLES. 

of  everything,  except  his  evening's  adventure,  until  they 
were  again  at  home. 

When  they  had  laid  aside  their  wrappings,  and  had 
been  warmed  a  few  moments  at  the  glowing  stove 
in  the  sitting-room,  Markham  said,  carelessly :  "  By  the 
way,  Worthingtofi,  the  friend  I  have  been  riding  with 
this  evening  wishes  to  see  you.  Won't  you  come  into 
the  library.'*" 

The  preacher  bowed  assent,  in  an  absent  way,  and 
w^ent  with  him  towards  the  door.  Markham  opened  it, 
and  signed  for  his  friend  to  enter.  .  Instead  of  follow- 
ing, he  closed  the  door  upon  Worthington,  himself  re- 
turning to  where  his  wife  was  sitting,  and,  with  an  ex- 
ultant look,  said,  significantly: 

"  They  will  not  require  an  introduction." 

"Who  is  there  .'*"  asked  Lizzie,  curiously. 

"Who  do  you  think,  little  wife .^"  he  asked,  patting 
her  cheek  playfully. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know." 

"Guess!" 

"I  cannot." 

"Amy  Levis." 

"Amy  Levis!"  she  exclaimed,  in  surprise;  "and 
who  is  heV 

"  Frank  V/orthington  Horton!" 

"Thank  God!" 

"  Amen !" 


CHAPTER    XL VI. 


'^^HE  next  was  a  busy  and  mysterious  day  at  Lanes- 
X  ville.  Scarcely  was  breakfast  over  at  Markham 
Churr's,  when  Amy  Levis  and  Lizzie  were  in  a  brisk 
chatter,  seated  upon  the  rug  before  the  fire  in  the 
latter's  chamber,  as  if  the  school-girl  life  were  not  a 
half-dozen  years  behind  them  in  the  dim  past.  Mark- 
ham  and  Colonel  Worthington  seemed  to  be  in  a  half- 
angry  discussion  in  the  library,  until  the   former  said : 

"There  comes  the  Dom.inie.  Now,  Colonel,  don't 
be  a  coward.  If  there  were  any  other  way  out  of  this, 
I  would  be  glad  to  see  you  take  it.  But  you  are  only 
putting  off  the  evil  day  and  suffering  in  anticipation 
m.ore  than  you  ever  could  in  fact." 

"  I  can't,  Markham,  I  can't  !"  Worthington  replied, 
with  a  look  of  anguish  and  entreaty. 

"You  can  and  you  shall,"  was  the  answet.  "I  shall 
take  the  responsibility,  and  begin  with  the  Dominie,"  he 
added,  as  that  worthy's  Steps  appfoached. 

"Don't!  don't!"  said  Worthington,  as  he  fled  out  at 
one  door  while  the  pastor  entelred  by  ahother. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  the  pastor  was  on  his  way 
home,  with  steps  of  unwonted  haste,  and  with  a  sadly- 
troubled   countenance.     The  mistress  of  the  parsonage 

did    not    visit    Mrs.    Churr    that    day,    and    its   master 

401 


402*  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

scarcely  left  his  study  after  his  return  until  the  hour 
fixed  for  the  evening  service.  That  the  good  lady  had 
been  seriously  troubled  in  her  mind  by  this  strange 
deportment  of  her  spouse  may  well  be  believed.  In 
the  thirty  years  during  which  they  had  traveled  life's 
dusty  road  together,  it  had  happened  but  few  times  that 
he  had  wrought  in  his  study  upon  Monday,  and  those 
were  times  of  sore  distress  to  the  aged  pair.  She  could 
count  them  all  upon  her  fingers,  and  as  she  wondered 
at  this,  she  ran  over  in  her  mind  the  cause  of  each. 
Then  she  went  up  to  his  study-door  and  listened.  He 
was  walking  back  and  forth,  talking  to  himself,  and 
occasionally  stopping  to  write.  This  v/as  his  habit  in 
composition,  but  it  seemed  incredible  that  he  should 
engage  in  labor  upon  that  day — his  day  of  rest.  She 
knocked  timidly  at  his  door,  and,  vv-hen  he  opened  it, 
said  wonderingly: 

"John!" 

His  face  was  full  of  a  strange,  solemn  light  as  he 
answered :  * 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  Mary — at  least,  noth- 
ing to  trouble  you.  Only,  do  not  ask  me  any  questions, 
nor  let  any  one  disturb  me." 

So  he  had  v>^orked  until  a  little  before  the  hour  for 
service;  she  had  brought  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  toast 
into  the  study,  ahd  he  had  partaken  of  them  in  an  ab- 
sent, silent  way,  which  left  her  still  more  in  wonder. 

All  day,  about  the  streets  and  in  the  stores  and 
offices  of  Lanesville,  there  had  been  strange,  vague 
rumors  in  regard  to  the  gifted  preacher  who  had  so 
delighted  all  the  day  before.     It  was  hard  to  tell  whence 


''WHOM   GOD  HATH  JOINED:*  403 

they  had  come,  or  what  they  were,  but  they  all  pointed 
to  the  church,  and  to  that  night  as  the  time  and  place 
where  some  startling  denouement  was  to  be  made. 

Since  morning,  Markham  Churr's  bays  had  been 
going  hither  and  thither,  flashing  the  bright  sleigh,  with 
its  gay  trimmings  and  abundant  robes,  around  in  a  hun- 
dred unexpected  places.  The  hour  for  the  evening 
service  arrived.  The  old  pastor  sat  alone  in  the  high 
pulpit.  The  house  was  crowded.  The  gallery  as  well 
as  the  body  of  the  house  was  full.  People  sat  upon  the 
steps  of  the  pulpit  and  around  the  altar.  Chairs  were 
placed  in  one  of  the  aisles,  and  it  was  quickly  filled. 
Every  one  was  on  the  look-out  for  som^ething,  he  knew 
not  what.  Those  who  sat  in  the  seats  before  and  be- 
hind the  pastor's  pew  plied  his  poor  wife  with  questions, 
which  she  could  no  more  answer  than  her  inquisitors: 

Where  was  Mr.  Worthington  ?  Had  she  seen  him 
that  day.^  Was  his  name  really  W^orthington  ?  How 
did  he  come  to  be  Colonel  ?  Why  was  he  not  in  the 
pulpit.?  Why  were  the  Churrs  not  here?  And  a  hun- 
dred more,  of  a  similar  import,  until  the  poor  woman 
could  only  reply : 

"Don't  ask  me!      I  don't  know!      I  don't  know!" 

It  was  a  vast  relief  to  her  when  the  brazen  tongue 
of  the  Ifell  hushed  the  busy  ones  of  her  neighbors,  and, 
with  its  last  echoes,  her  husband  rose  in  the  pulpit  and 
read  the  opening  hymn.  He  was  very  pale,  and  seemed 
much  affected.  Every  seat  in  the  house  was  full  except 
General  Churr's — no  one  sat  there.  Whether  it  was  by 
arrangement,  or,  because  their  family  were  so  seldom 
absent,  that  no  one  else  had  been  put  in  there,  no  one 


404 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


seemed  to  know.  Yet  every  one  looked  at  it — some 
ominously,  and  with  a  shake  of  the  head  which  bespoke 
unutterable  mystery,  and  others  just  wonderingly. 

The  town  of  Lanesville  might  be  said  to  have  col- 
lected in  the  church.  Not  only  this,  but  there  were  a 
great  number  from  Aychitula.  It  seemed  that  the  fame  of 
the  young  preacher  had  reached  there,  and  a  large  num- 
ber had  made  their  curiosity,  as  it  seemed,  an  excuse  to 
try  the  fine  sleighing  by  a  moonlight  ride.  Among  these 
were  four  old  people,  for  whom,  at  their  two  houses,  a 
sleigh  had  called  at  a  late  hour,  the  driver  of  which  de- 
clared that  there:  was  no  mistake.  He  had  been  especially 
directed  to  drive  them,  to  Lanesville,  to  hear  the  great 
Western  preacher,  and  return  the  next  day.  He  de- 
clared that  the  team  was  already  paid  for^  and  the 
arrangements  for  their  comfort  made,  though  he  refused 
to  disclose  the  name  of  his  employer.  So,  after  much 
consultation,  the  old  neighbors  had  consented  to  accept 
the  favor  of  their  unknown  friend,  and  the  ride  from 
Aychitula  had  not  been  merrier  to  any  of  the  young 
hearts  who  made  it  that  night  than  to  those  hearty  old 
people  who  sat  side  by  side  on  the  front  seat  in  the 
little  church,  waiting  in  mute  wonder  to  hear  the 
preacher  who  w^as  not  present. 

The  service  proceeded,  and  the  old  pastor. poured 
out  his  heart  in  prayer.  His  tender,  almost  tearful, 
tones  were  scanned  with  curious  criticism  by  his  watch- 
ful auditors,  who  thought  they  might  gather  from  his 
words  the  secret  which  they  felt  was  in  his  heart,  in 
his  voice,  in  the  very  air,  only  so  vague  and  evanescent 
that  they  could  not  quite  catch  its  form  and   outline. 


''WHOM  GOD  HA  Til  JOINED:'  405 

The  prayer  is  finished,  the  Scripture  lesson  read,  and 
yet  the  mystery  is  not  defined.  The  air  is  charged  with 
a  mysterious  electricity,  yet  they  cannot  trace  its  cur- 
rents. Then  comes  the  text,  and  the  wondering  audi- 
tors look  into  each  other's  puzzled  eyes,  as  they  admit 
their  inability  to  see  its  application  to  the  state  of  facts 
which  had  tacitly  come  to  be  presumed  by  every  one, 
though  hardly  whispered  by  the  boldest: 

"  What  God  hath  cleansed,  call  not  thou  common 
or  unclean." 

The  sermon  is  finished.  From  text  unto  conclusion 
it  has  been  watched  with  the  keenest  scrutiny  by  every 
auditor.  Nothing  has  been  detected,  however,  except 
a  humble  tenderness,  as  if  the  old  pastor  had  but  re- 
cently been  with  Fisherman  Peter,  in  his  vision,  when 
the  great  v/hite  sheet  was  let  down  from  heaven,  and 
had  heard  the  gentle  reproof  which  came  from  out  the 
rifted  cloud  after  it  was  withdrawn.  The  touch  of 
God's  finger  had  sanctified  ail  mankind  to  him.  Un- 
consciously, his  hearers  forgot  what  so  many  of  them 
were  seeking  for,  and,  by  the  lips  of  his  servant,  the 
Nazarene  taught  again  to  willing  hearts  the  one  great 
trutli  of  his  dispensation — the  Brotherhood  of  Man. 

Hearts  which  came  to  criticise  were  touched  and 
softened,  and  many  a  one  not  wont  to  pray  joined  fer- 
vently in  the  closing  petitions.  Eyes  were  moist  and 
lips  were  tremulous  in  that  congregation,  for  the  tongue 
of  flame  rested  above  many  a  soul. 

So  hushed  and  solemn  were  the  hearts  of  his  hearers, 
that  when,  after  the  prayer,  he  said,  "  We  will  now  cele- 
brate the  holy  ordinance  of  marriage,"  and  then  picked 


4o6  J^^GS  AND    THISTLES, 

his  way  among  the  crowded  worshipers  to  the  front  of 
the  altar,  the  audience  manifested  no  great  surprise  or 
undue  interest ;  they  had  so  far  forgotten  the  curiosity 
which  possessed  them  at  first.  But  suddenly  they  saAv, 
half-way  up  the  aisle  on  the  left,  the  form  of  the 
new  preacher,  with  Amy  Levis  upon  his  arm,  while 
behind  them  came  General  Churr  and  his  wife,  looking 
happier  than  their  oldest  friends  remembered  to  have 
seen  them.  To  say  that  the  excitement  was  intense 
from  that  instant  would  but  ill  describe  it.  All  rose 
to  their  feet,  and  waited,  in  anxious  expectancy,  for 
— no  one  knew  what,  but  every  one  felt  that  the  secret 
they  had  waited  for  so  long  was  about  to  be  revealed. 

When  they  finally  stood  before  the  altar,  the  old 
pastor  said,  in  soft,  benignant  tones,  and  with  a  look 
that  he  must  have  caught  from  some  ascending  angel 
in  his  most  rapt  visions : 

"We  are  about  to  celebrate  the  marriage  of  Frank 
Worthington  Horton  and  Aniy  Levis.  If  any  of  you 
know  any  jusc  cause  why  this  man  and  this  woman  may 
not  lawfully  be  joined  together,  let  him  now  speak,  or 
forever  after  hold  his  peace." 

He  had  purposely  varied  the  form,  spoken  the  names 
with  unusual  distinctness  and  a  rneaning  emphasis ;  but 
no  one  uttered  a  word.  The  mystery  for  which  they 
had  been  seeking  was  now  in  their  grasp,  but  the  words 
of  the  preacher  were  still  in  their  ears,  and  every  tongue 
was  hushed.  Tears  were  in  very  many  eyes.  Our  four 
old  friends  in  the  front  pew — the  parents  of  the  bride 
and  of  the  groom — seemed  too  stunned  to  realize  the 
full  meaning  of  what  was  taking  place. 


"WHOM   GOD  HA  Til  JOJNEDr  ^^-^ 

The  ceremony  was  quickly  over.  A  few  noticed 
that  the  bridegroom  was  as  pallid  as  the  snow  without, 
and  others  that  the  wifely  care  already  sat  upon  the 
brow  of  the  bride.  Then  they  passed  down  the  aisle, 
and  the  voice  of  Markham  Churr  was  heard  requesting 
the  audience  to  remain  seated  for  a  few  moments.  As 
soon  as  they  had  passed  out,  he  said : 

** Neighbors,  you  'have  seen  a  strange  thing  —  the 
beautiful  outcome  of  a  life  v\'hose  fruitage  many  a  heart 
in  this  house  feared.  As  Colonel  Frank  Worthington, 
he  who  has  just  gone  forth  has  a  thousand  times  re- 
deemed Frank  Horton's  fault.  Yet,  so  stricken  does  he 
feel,  that  he  is  anxious  to  escape  from  you  here,  and 
bury  himself  once  more  in  the  Great  West.  He  has 
given  you  a  surprise  to-night.  Will  you  come  to  my 
house  to-morrow  night  and  surprise  him,  whom  I  am 
glad  to  call  my  friend,  v/ith  a  greeting  which  shall  make 
his  old  father  young  again  and  shame  his  distrust  of 
your  goodness?" 

There  was  a  little  cheer,  and  a  general  cry  of  "Yes! 
yes!" 

"  At  seven  o'clock,  then  ;  and  we  will  shake  that  left 
hand  until  he  will  wish  more  than  ever  for  the  right, 
which  he  lost  at  Chickamauga." 

Nothing  could  stop  the  cheer  then,  and  when  the 
old  pastor  gave  out  the  doxology  it  was  sung  with  the 
jubilant  clangor  of  Miriam's  triumph-song;  and  the 
benediction  which  came  after  it  was  like  the  promise 
of  life  to  the  Apostles  on  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration. 


The  welcome  of  the  next  evening  was  over.     More 


4o8 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES, 


heartily  than  the  kindliest  could  have  dreamed,  the 
good  people  of  the  town  stamped  their  approval  of  that 
Christian  manhood  which  had  not  only  vanquished 
temptation,  but  had  also  made  reparation  for  his  wrong- 
doing and  expiated  the  sin  of  youth  by  the  self-sacrifice 
and  devotion  of  maturer  years. 

The  joy  of  Thomas  Horton  had  been  too  pro- 
found for  words.  All  through  the  evening,  he  could 
only  rub  the  few  gray-black  hairs  which  formed  a  cir- 
clet round  his  smooth,  bald  head,  take  from  over  his 
ear  the  pencil  which  he  had  carried  there  so  long  that 
he  could  never  be  quite  comfortable  without  it,  examine 
its  point  until  his  eyes  grew  dim  with  tears,  and  then 
fasten  them  upon  his  long-lost  son.  And  through  this 
little  circle  of  bewildered  joy  he  went  again  and  again. 

In  all  the  years  since  that  terrible  day  at  Chicka- 
mauga  no  one  had  heard  a  word  from  Frank  Horton ; 
but  two  hearts  had  clung  to  their  faith  in  him — his 
father  and  Amy  Levis.  The  fact  that  he  had  not  been 
heard  from  since  that  time  had  been  an  assurance  to 
both  that  he  was  still  alive  and  at  work. 

"  He  would  never  die  and  leave  no  word  for  me," 
said  the  cashier.  "  Think  how  anxious  he  was  about 
the  payment  of  that  money.  Then,  too,  he  told  Gen- 
eral Churr,  expressly,  that  both  he  and  I  should  know 
of  his  death."  Markham  Churr,  in  his  busy  life,  had 
half-forgotten  the  interview  by  the  roadside  on  the  night 
before  the  battle.  To  Frank's  father  it  had  been  an 
ever-present  fact. 

"  His  last  known  word  was  of  me,"  Amy  Levis  had 
thought,  and  she   set  her  face  steadily  towards   a  life 


''WHOM   GOD  HATH  JOIXEDr  409 

of  devotion  to  her  absent,  silent — contemned  love.  She 
staked  her  faith  in  Frank  Horton  against  the  dreary 
desolation  of  an  unloved  womanhood. 

No  words  can  paint  the  contented  triumph  of  these 
faithful  hearts.  Past  all  hope  was  the  completeness  of 
their  joy.  From  being  one  whose  name  was  remem- 
bered with  a  sigh  of  regret  or  a  blush  of  shame,  Frank 
Horton  had  leapt  into  the  hearts  of  all,  a  presence  and 
a  life  whom  it  was  a  delight  to  honor. 

As  Amy  stood  by  her  husband,  and  received  the 
warm  and  often  tearful  greetings  of  the  new-found 
friends,  in  the  parlor  of  Lizzie  Churr's  pleasant  home, 
and  saw  Markham,  with  the  glow  of  friendship  on  his 
face,  take  the  hand  of  her  husband  in  the  mere  exuber- 
ance of  his  joy,  she  could  but  turn  to  her  friend  and, 
pointing  to  the  evenly  matched  yet  strongly  contrasted 
pair,  remark :  "  Were  there  ever  two  such  splendid  men 
before  V 

And  a  swift  glance  of  responsive  pride  and  a  warm 
impulsive  kiss  was  the  only  reply. 

And  when  the  hand-shaking  and  felicitations  were 
over,  and  the  throng  were  about  to  separate,  calling  first 
for  one  word  of  collective  farewell  from  the  young  di- 
vine ere  he  started  upon  his  wedding-trip,  which  was 
expected  to  end,  after  a  few  weeks,  at  his  Western  home, 
he  could  only  say,  as  the  tears  fell  down  upon  his  dark 
beard : 

"  I  thank  you,  friends,  for  teaching  me  anew  the 
truth  of  that  promise  :  '  There  is  more  joy  in  heaven 
over  one  sinner  that  repenteth  than  over  ninety  and  nine 
which  need  no  repentance.'     May  you  each  live  so  as 


41  o  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

finally  to  prove  its  blessedness   even  more  fully  than  I 
do  at  this  hour  " 

Hov/  the  hearts  of  his  hearers  caine  into  their  eyes ! 
There  were  quivering  lips  and  choking  farewells  as  they 
said  "  Good-night,"  and  many  a  tear  glistened  in  the 
winter   moonlight  as   tiie   sleighs   drove  away  from  the 


siae-porc 


h  at  Markham  Churr's  that  night. 


a'- 


And  when,  last  of  all,  the  old  minister  came  to  de- 
part, as  he  stood  at  the  door  and  gave  his  hand  in 
farevv^ell  to  his  young  co-laborer,  he  said,  solemnly  and 
tenderly  • 

"  '  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way,'  my  brother.  No 
labor  of  mine,  no  eloquence  of  yours,  could  have  served 
to  bring  this  people  so  near  to  the  Cross  of  Him  who. 
is  able  to  save — even  to  the  uttermost.  I  would  thank 
you,  but  it  was  not  your  act." 

"Ah,"  said  the  young  man,  "if  you  only  knew 
what  I  hav'e  suffered  in  the  attempt  to  avoid  what  has 
here  happened,  in  spite  of  my  precautions !" 

''  Therefore  let  us  thank  Him  for  overruling  your 
weakness  for  His  glory.  Assuredly,  you  are  a  notable 
monument  of  His  grace  and  favor,  and  I  can  only  say 
to  you,  for  your  future  guidance,  in  the  words  of  the 
old  Eli  to  Samuel,  to  whatever  duty  He  may  call  forget 
not  to  respond  :  '  Speak,  Lord,  for  Thy  servant  heareth.'  " 

His  hands  were  tremulous  as  he  placed  them  upon 
the  bowed  heads  of  x\m.y  and  her  husband,  but  his 
face  shone  v/ith  a  light  which  v/as  not  of  earth  as  he 
said  :  "  The  peace  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be  with 
you  always,  even  unto  the  end  " 

He  went  av/ay  with  the  radiance  of  the  peace  he 


''WHOM   GOD   HATH   JOJNEDr  4H 

had  invoked  shining  about  him,  but  when  the  next  even- 
ing the  young  friend  of  his  old  age  looked  into  his 
face,  the  patriarch's  journey  was  over,  and  only  the 
smile  upon  his  marble  lips  testified  of  the  peace  which 
had  been  with  him  to  the  end. 

At  the  earnest  request  of  the  people,  and  according 
to  the  dying  wish  of  the  old  pastor,  Frank  Horton  re- 
mained to  become  his  successor,  and,  after  his  release 
from  his  Western  charge,  was  duly  installed  as  such. 


CHAPTER   XL  VII. 

THE     HEAVENS     OPENED. 

THE  next  day  Boaz  Woodley  was  in  Lanesvllle. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  years — srlmost  since 
the  death  of  his  wife,  the  neighbors  said — the  house 
was  opened,  and  the  fires  lighted  in  the  sitting-room 
and  library. 

Markham  was  informed  of  the  return  of  this  man, 
whom  he  hardly  knew  how  to  designate,  whether  as  his 
friend  or  his  enemy,  by  a  note,  in  Woodley's  peculiar 
handvv^riting,  which  was  brought  to  him  at  breakfast: 

"  Dear  Sir  :  I  arrived  home  last  night,  and  am  anx- 
ious to  see  you.     Please  call  at  3  p.m.,  as  I  have  matters 

of  importance  to  communicate. 

"Boaz  Woodley." 

"So,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  when  he  had  read  it,  "our 
neighbor  across  the  way  is  at  home  again." 


412  '         J^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

He  finished  his  meal  quietly,  wondering  at  his  own 
coolness.  After  it  was  over,  he  went  out,  still  wonder- 
ing that  he  felt  no  excitement.  He  had  almost  forgot- 
ten his  own  trouble  during  the  past  few  days  in  his 
anxiety  to  dispel  the  cloud  which  hung  over  his  friend. 
He  knew  very  well  why  Boaz  Woodley  had  followed 
him  to  Lanesville.  He  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  the 
message  which  he  had  to  communicate  that  afternoon. 
He  knew  that  he  was  in  this  man's  power.  Yet,  some- 
how, he  did  not  dread  to  meet  him  as  he  had  a  fev/ 
days  before. 

He  wandered  out  to  the  stable.  He  had  always 
been  very  fond  of  horses.  His  turnout  was  not  extrav- 
agant, nor  were  his  stables  extensive  or  luxurious.  But 
his  span  of  dark  blood-bays,  with  their  glossy  coats, 
black,  silky  manes  and  tails,  eyes  of  fire,  yet  docile  as 
lambs,  with  pedigrees  which  assured  one  of  their  speed 
and  endurance — these  were  unequaled  in  all  that  region, 
though  it  justly  boasts  of  its  blooded  stock,  and  every 
farmer-boy  trains  each  successive  foal  for  the  track,  in 
the  fond  hope  that  he  may  hit  upon  another  Flora  Tem- 
ple or  Goldsmith  Maid  among  the  colts  of  his  father's 
farmyard.  These  horses  were  the  pets  of  their  owner. 
He  had  trained  and  caressed  them  until  they  knew  his 
voice  and  step,  and  greeted  him  with  tokens  of  recog- 
nition whenever  he  approached  them.  There  was  a 
sharp  rivalry  between  them  for  the  notice  of  their  mas- 
ter If  one  was  caressed,  the  jealousy  of  the  other 
was  apparent.  But  both  seemed  at  the  acme  of  equine 
delight  when  he  held  the  reins.  It  was  a  pleasure  to 
see  how  they  would  strive  to  outdo  each  other  when  he 


THE  IIEAVEiWS   OPENED.  413 

called  upon  them.  About  Lanesville,  the  bays  were 
almost  as  favorably  known  as  their  master.  The  fond- 
ness of  each  for  the  other  was  so  apparent  that  it  had 
become  a  subject  of  frequent  jest.  It  was  said  that 
whenever  the  General  returned  home,  his  first  inquiry 
was  for  his  horses  and  the  next  for  his  wife.  From 
all  of  which  facts  it  will  be  seen  that  Markham  Churr 
and  his  horses  vv^ere  on  excellent  terms. 

The  cold  weather,  which  had  kept  the  sleighing  un- 
impaired since  the  middle  of  December,  seemed  about 
to  let  go  its  hold  on  the  last  day  of  the  year.  A  soft 
south  wind  was  blowing.  The  sun  was  bright  and 
v/arm.  Already  the  passing  sleighs  were  beginning  to 
cut  through  the  beaten  paths,  and  the  snow  had  ac- 
quired that  slipperiness  and  proclivity  to  pack  closely 
beneath  the  foot  which  betokens  the  swift  approach  of 
a  "break-up." 

The  doors  of  the  stable  were  open,  and  Markham 
lounged  in  to  see  his  pets.  There  was  no  one  in,  as 
the  groom's  work  for  the  morning  was  over.  As  he 
stepped  into  the  stalls,  it  flashed  upon  his  mind,  for  the 
first  time,  that  his  refusal  to  obey  the  will  of  Boaz 
Woodley  might  require  him  to  part  with  these  favorites. 
The  thought  gave  him  a  sharp  twinge,  which  he  ex- 
pressed in  words,  as  he  patted  the  head  of  one  of  them. 

"Ah!  Billy,  poor  fellow!  We've  been  great  friends, 
haven't  v/e  ?  Yes,  and  you  too.  Brownie !  I  didn't 
mean  to  neglect  you,  old  fellow!"  he  said,  as  he  stroked 
the  forehead  of  the  other,  who  had  thrust  his  head  into 
the  stall  of  his  mate,  in  jealous  fear  that  he  might  not 
get  his  share  of  the  endearments.     "  In  fact,  I  believe 


414  ^^'^^  ^^-D    THISTLES. 

1  should  hate  to  let  you  go  worse  than  Bill ;  but  you 
mustn't  tell  him  so,  you  rogue !  I've  had  you  longer, 
and  watched  you  come  out.  Ah,  Brownie,  you're  not 
the  scraggy  foal  you  were  when  1  first  saw  you  !  No- 
body thought  you'd  be  the  best  horse  in  the  county 
then.  You've  changed  wonderfully.  Brownie;  and,  for 
that  matter,  so  has  your  master!" 

This  chance  expression  set  him  to  meditating  again. 
He  soon  became  forgetful  of  his  pets,  and  w^andered 
dreamily  in  upon  the  floor  of  the  barn,  picked  up  a 
handful  of  the  bright,  fresh  hay,  smelicd  of  it,  looked 
carelessly  at  the  m.ovv^,  instinctively  estimating  whether 
there  were  enough  to  last  his  stock  until  spring.  Mark- 
ham  Churr,  as  we  have  seen,  had  known  the  interior  of 
a  farmer's  life.  His  boyhood  and  early  youth  had  been 
passed  amid  the  little  economies  and  daily-recurring 
anxieties  of  that  existence,  which  is  so  charming  in 
fiction  and  so  dreary  in  its  dull  round  of  fact.  The 
poetry  of  his  nature  had  run  out  to  the  enjoyments 
which  the  farmer's  life  is  too  busy  to  enable  him  to 
taste  except  by  piecemeal,  as  his  endless  routine  of  toil 
and  saving  are  intermitted  for  a  moment  by  the  ex- 
igencies of  the  weather  or  the  exhaustion  of  his  power. 

These  spots  of  sunshine  in  the  farmer's  life  had  al- 
ways remained  bright  in  Markham's  memor}',  and  when 
he  had  acquired  a  competency  these  simple  pleasures 
did  not  pall  upon  his  tastes.  The  barn  had  been  the 
place  where  he  had  dreamed  of  the  future  all  through 
his  boyhood,  and  as  he  leaned  over  the  breast-girt  nov/, 
and  looked  down  upon  the  billowy  expanse  of  matted 
timothy,  and  then  up  the  smooth  wall,  where  the  pressed 


THE  HEAVENS   OPENED.  41  ^ 

fibers  had  been  severed  by  the  hay-knife,  it  occurred  to 
him  that  up  on  the  top  of  the  uncut  mow  was  the 
quietest  and  fittest  place  for  him  to  wrestle  with  the 
great  question  which  had  so  long  disturbed  his  peace. 

So  he  clambered  up  the  ladder,  quite  forgetful  that 
he  was  a  Congressman,  and  clad  in  fine  clothing,  and 
only  remembering  that  he  was  Markham  Churr,  on  his 
way  to  his  old-time  hidiifg-place  to  ponder  his  future. 
Back  in  the  very  farthest  corner,  under  the  sloping 
roof,  near  a  tiny  hole  through  which  the  sun  came 
peering  in,  where  the  piled-up  hay  came  almost  to  the 
cobwebbed  rafters,  the  man  who  was  a  boy  again  laid 
himself  down  to  think. 

He  thought  of  himself  as  boy  and  man,  vaguely, 
pleasantly.  Lizzie  Harper,  Eoaz  Woodley,  war,  peace, 
prosperity  and  fame,  came  to  mingle  with  the  remote, 
rough  current  of  his  young  life,  and  remove  the  as- 
perities of  poverty  by  their  blandishments.  He  had 
spoken  truly  to  his  horse,  "Brownie."  There  had  been 
great  changes  in  him,  and  in  his  life.  There  came  a 
familiar  fragrance  which  mingled  with  his  reverie.  He 
hunted  about  in  the  loose  hay  until  he  found  a  stalk  of 
yarrow  among  the  rank-grown  timothy.  He  knew  at 
once  where  it  had  grown— up  on  a  slope  of  the  hill  in 
the  orchard.  There  was  a  patch  of  'daisies  near  it. 
Yes,  there  was  one  now,  and  he  picked  out  the  dried 
yellow  ball  with  its  white  fringe.  He  remembered  mow- 
ing that  very  orchard  the  first  summer  that  he  swung  a 
scythe.  He  worked  by  the  day  then,  during  his  vaca- 
tion,  for  old  Judge  Cheney,  at  fifty  cents  a  day  !  Yes, 
there  had  been  changes  since  then  !     He  almost  wished 


4i6 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


there  had  not  been ;  that  he  was  a  boy  again,  or,  rather, 
that  he  had  never  risen  from  the  walk  his  boyhood 
promised.  It  would  be  hard  novr,  terribly  hard,  to  fall, 
to  lose  wealth  and  station,  and  be  no  more,  except  in 
notoriety,  than  the  farmer's  boy  he  would  have  been 
had  he  been  content  with  a  farmer's  life. 

And  then  to  think  how  he  would  be  scorned !  How 
his  name  would  be  published*  all  over  the  land  as  one 
who  was  either  a  coward,  a  hypocrite,  or  a  silly  victim, 
even  if  his  own  true  story  were  believed,  which  he  was 
well  assured  it  would  not.  Oh,  it  was  terrible — very 
terrible — he  said  to  himself.  Yet  he  lay  upon  the  fra- 
grant hay,  with  the  stalk  of  yarrow  and  the  dried  daisy 
in  one  hand,  combing  his  tawny  beard  with  the  other, 
almost  undisturbed,  and  not  at  all  dismayed,  as  he  had 
been  hitherto,  at  the  prospect.  He  asked  himself  from 
sheer  habit,  could  he  endure  it }  Could  he  lose  all  lie 
had  wrought  for  in  life  and  not  lose  the  manhood  he 
had  gained  since  he  worked  for  the  Judge  at  fifty  cents 
a  day.?  Somehow,  do  all  he  could,  it  would  not  seem 
half  as  horrible  as  it  had  done  before.  He  was  quiet, 
calm,  yet  as  far  removed  from  apathy  as  from  excite- 
ment. 

"As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he."  The 
words  flashed  across  his  consciousness  with  that  pecu- 
liar vitality  of  meaning  which  only  the  inspired  Word 
can   give.     It  brought  a   strangely  pleasurable   thrill. 

"Ah!"  he  said  to  himself,  "the  heart — 'as  a  man 
thinketh  in  hislheart!'  My  heart  has  been  clean,  thank 
God!     Aye,  and  He  knows  it!     Yes,  He  knows  it!" 

He   started    forward   with   a   strangely-puzzled    look 


THE   HEAVENS   OPENED.  ^j^ 

upon  his  face.  A  new  joy  gleamed  in  every  lineament ! 
Then  the  tears  began  to  flow  over  the  joy-lighted  face, 
through  the  quivering  moustache  and  down  the  glisten- 
ing beard  upon  the  clasped  hands,  as  Markham  Churr 
prayed  the  joyful  prayer  of  faith,  and  for  the  first  time 
in   his  life  consciously  looked  to  God  for  deliverance.  ^ 

"Ah,"  he  whispered  to  himself,  as  he  brushed  away 
the  swift-flowing  tears,  "  I  know  now  why  I  did  not 
fear  the  evil  which  hung  over  me  !  I  had  learned  to 
lean  -upon  God  without  knowing  it  ! 

"'  As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he,'"  he  re- 
peated, smiling  through  his  tears.  *'  Yes,  those  who  are 
strong  and  brave  and  true  in  heart  are  those  of  whom 
*one  shall  put  a  thousand  to  flight,  and  two  shall  chase 
ten  thousand.'  'As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart!'  / 
think  God  approves  my  intention— He  shall  approve  ray 
act.  I  see  now  why  I  have  ceased  to  be  unhappy.  I 
have  something  which  I  cannot  lose. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hurt  Colonel  Woodley's  feelings.  He 
has  been  a  good  friend— a  wonderfully  helpful  friend  to 
me.  He  has  been  strong  and  genuinely  kind — almost 
a  father  in  his  care.  I  wish  I  might  not  hurt  either 
his  pride  or  his  interest.  But  I  can  ?wt  do  as  he  wishes; 
I  am  compelled  to  deny  him  !  I  wish  he  could  see 
this  matter  as  I  do !  And  why  should  he' not.?  God 
can  make  him !" 

So,  while  yet  the  tears  of  his  new-found  joy  were 
upon  his  eyelids,  he  sent  up  from  an  humble,  trustful 
heart  a  petition  for  the  strange  being  who  had  so  warped 
his  destiny.  The  spirit  of  that  love  which  he  had  but 
just    found    would    not   let    him    enjoy    his    happinness 


41 8  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

alone,  but  sent  him  out  even  in  the  hour  of  his  new 
birth  into  the  by-ways  and  hedges  of  sin  to  seek  for 
some  halting  soul  whom  he  might  bring  in  to  the  feast. 

Calmed  by  this  act,  his  next  thought  was  of  his 
wife,  and,  clambering  down  the  ladder,  he  went  out  into 
the  day.  He  thought  it  the  brightest  and  fairest  he 
had  ever  known,  and,  with  the  light  of  an  eternal  morn- 
ing upon  his  face,  he  ran  to  find  Lizzie  to  tell  the  glad 
tidings  ! 

"Why,  where  have  you  been  all  the  morning.?"  she 
cried,  as  he  burst  into  the  sitting-room. 

He  glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel.  Four  hours 
had  passed  since  he  had  climbed  up  on  the  mow ! 
Where  } — what }  His  thoughts  were  for  a  moment  con- 
fused. Her  eyes,  made  keen  by  anxious  love,  detected 
his  peculiar  manner — perhaps  she  even  noticed  that  his 
voice  vv^as  changed,  that  it  had  a  new  and  peculiar  ca- 
dence. 

"Why,  Markham,"  she  repeated,  half  alarmed, 
"  where — " 

"In  heaven,  I  think,  darling!" 

The  answer  was  irrelevant  and  almost  meaningless 
of  itself,  but  it  bore  sweet  tidings  to  her  heart,  and 
lighted  her  eyes  with  a  joy  that  tears  could  not  quench. 

As  soon  as  the  early  dinner  was  over,  the  horses 
were  at  the  door,  and  Markham  sought  the  good  old 
pastor  at  the  parsonage,  and  made  his  heart  glad  with 
the  same  sweet  message. 

"Ah,"  said  the  sainted  patriarch,  "I  have  felt  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  was  very  near  us  of  late — very  near. 
I  knew  from  experience  that   some  soul  would  feel  its 


THE  HEAVENS  OPENED.  419 

influence,  and  somehow  I  had  been  impelled  to  bear 
you  in  my  prayers  for  many  days.  God  be  thanked!" 
That  afternoon  the  good  old  man  departed. 


CHAPTER    XLVIirr 
A  stork's  nest. 

AT  the  appointed  hour,  Markham  Churr  was  at  the 
home  of  Boaz  Woodley.  The  light  of  his  new 
joy  had  not  faded  from  his  countenance  when  he  was 
called  upon  to  meet  temptation. 

The  house  of  Boaz  Woodley  was  one  of  the  oldest 
to  be  found  in  that  region,  where  newness  is  so  univer- 
sal that  the  appearance  of  age  is  as  studiously  avoided 
by  the  houses  as  it  is  said  to  be  by  marriageable  ladies. 
The  houses  of  the  early  settlers — the  oldest  of  v.'hich 
could  hardly  yet  have  boasted  three-quarters  of  a  cen- 
tury— are  scarcely  to  be  found  even  in  fragments,  and 
never  to  be  recognized.  There  are  a  fev/  gaunt  old 
structures  still  to  be  seen,  whose  yellow  paint  and  un- 
limited display  of  that  peculiar  wood-work  known  as 
"  honey-comb  "  bespeak  the  boastful  tawdriness  of  the 
stage-coach  era — the  dwelling-place  of  some  old  publi- 
can, or  some  lucky  proprietor  of  rich  pasture  or  fat 
bottoms  in  those  days  of  Eastward-bound  droves.  The 
house  of  Boaz  Woodley  was,  however,  one  of  a  still 
rarer  type.  The  rear  portion  of  the  old  structure  had 
been  built  by  the  original  proprietor  of  *'  Section  2, 
Range  3,  Township  4,"  for  the  purpose  of  a   dwelling, 


420  ^^GS  AiVD    THISTLES. 

for  which,  in  those  primeval  days,  its  two  rooms  and  the 
loft  above  were  quite  sufficient.  The  various  occu- 
pants succeeding  him,  to  the  time  when  the  present 
owner's  proprietorship  commenced,  had  added  to  this 
primitive  structure  with  a  more  rigid  idea  of  practi- 
cality and  less  of  garish  display  than  was  usual  in  the 
houses  of  that  region.  Low,  strong -beamed  wings 
spread  out  on  either  side,  with  wide,  over -hanging 
eaves,  and  cunningly -placed  windows  in  the  many 
gables;  while  quaint  passages  and  roomy  closets  had 
been  stuck  here  and  there  as  each  owner  thought 
might  be  "handy"  rather  than  attractive.  Its  weather- 
beaten  walls  were  bare  and  gray,  and  the  ceiling  and 
wainscot  were  smoked  and  grim,  when  Boaz  Wood- 
ley  became  the  owner  of  the  quaint  old  pile,  hidden 
away  under  the  shade  of  giant,  low-limbed  apple-trees, 
with  a  walnut  nodding  over  the  main  gable  to  a  sugar- 
maple,  with  its  great,  round  head — a  ball  of  green  or 
crimson  as  the  season  served — which  stood  on  the  oppo- 
site flank.  A  low^,  shady  porch  ran  along  half  the  front, 
with  a  climbing  rose  upon  one  side  of  the  door-stone, 
and  flaunting  hollyhocks  upon  the  other. 

This  was  the  castle  in  which  Boaz  Woodley,  years 
before,  had  set  up  his  household  gods.  There  was  no 
little  of  the  artist  hidden  in  the  rough  husk  of  the 
strange  man,  though  neither  he  nor  his  friends  would 
have  been  apt  to  select  him  as  an  exemplar  of  the  ar- 
tistic spirit.  The  place  had  come  into  his  hands  in 
discharge  of  a  debt — payment  of  a  fee.  The  neighbors 
all  looked  for  Boaz  Woodley  to  tear  down  the  old,  gray 
pile  and  put  up  a  showy  mansion  in  its  stead. 


A    S7VA'A"S  NEST.  421 

Mr.  Woodley  was  accustomed  to  have  his  own  way, 
however,  and  despite  all  their  advice  and  speculation 
he  had  it  this  time;  and  the  result  never  ceased  to  be  a 
uonder  to  the  good  people  of  Lanesville.  Mr.  Woodley 
did,  indeed,  repair,  but  did  not  rebuild. 

The  result  was  that  the  tints  and  outlines  of  the  old 
house  were  saved,  in  the  main,  and  there  appeared  one 
villa  in  Lanesville  which  was  attractive  to  the  eye 
without  garishness,  and  neat  without  apparent  newness. 
Boaz  Woodley  seemed  to  have  created  out  of  his  old 
Castle  of  Unthrift  a  house  which  had  a  different  language 
and  purpose  from  that  of  any  of  his  neighbors.  It  spoke 
of  comfort  and  privacy,  almost  of  seclusion. 

Everything  was  as  bland  and  comfortable  within  the 
mansion  that  day  as  was  the  weather  without.  The 
owner  met  his  caller  with  that  open,  genial  manner 
which^sat  so  well  upon  him  when  he  was  at  his  best. 
Their  talk  flowed  on  so  smoothly  that  Markham  began 
to  fear  that  he  had  wronged  him  in  his  thoughts.  At 
length,  Woodley  said,  as  carelessly  as  if  he  were  only 
referring  to  it  for  the  purpose  of  apology : 

"  By  the  way,  Churr,  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon  for 
losing  my  temper  the  other  day  in  our  conversation 
with  regard  to  that  Trans-Continental  bill.  You  know 
it  is  a  thing  I  seldom  do,  and  I  can  hardly  imagine  how 
I  came  to  be  so  weak  then." 

"  I  beg  to  assure  you  that  I  had  no  thought  of 
taking  offence  at  your  warmth,"  Markham  hastened  to 
say. 

"Well,"  Woodley  replied,  looking  musingly  into  the 
great  hickory-wood  lire  before  which  they  were  sitting, 


42  2  ^-^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

"you  ought  not  to  have  taken  offence,  that's  a  fact;  for 
I  suppose  that,  really,  it  was  much  more  a  considera- 
tion of  your  interest  than  my  own  ivhich  made  me  so 
urgent  in  the  matter.  You  know,  Markham^  that  I  have 
come  to  take  a  wonderful  interest  in  you." 

"  You  have  shown  that  in  so  many  ways  that  I  must 
be  an  ingrate,  indeed,  if  I  could  distrust  your  friend- 
ship now,"  said  Markham, 

*'  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Woodley,  contempla- 
tively, "  but  you  have  com.e  to  be  more  to  me  than  any 
other  man  ever  was.  I  seem  to  live  again  in  you  ;  yet 
we  are  not  alike.  Our  purposes,  plans,  mode  of  action, 
all  are  different.  I  do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  I  seem 
to  have  made  you  a  part  of  myself,  and  whatever  pro- 
motes your  interest  or  prosperity  is  as  dear  to  me  as 
the  apple  of  my  eye.  I  know  I  am  weak  and  foolish, 
but  so  it  is." 

*•  I  am  sure  I  " — began  Markham. 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Woodley,  "  I  know  you  appreci- 
ate it,  or  think  you  do.  We  are  so  different,  that  I 
do  not  know  whether  we  can  ever  fully  understand  and 
appreciate  each  other.  I  suppose  if  my  son  Amos  had 
lived  I  should  never  have  felt  so  towards  you,  though 
he  was  not  strong  enough  to  satisfy  me.  Perhaps, 
though,  for  that  very  reason  I  should  have  loved  him 
more,  and  enjoyed  working  for  him  better." 

Strong,  successful  man  as  he  -vv^s,  Markham  Churr 
felt  a  sort  of  jealous  thrill  at  this  mention  of  his  dead 
son  by  the  man  who  sat  before  him.  Never  before  had 
he  fully  realized  how  close  was  the  relation  between 
them,  and  how  tender  was  the  regard  which  he  had  for 


A    STOA'A^'S  ATE  ST.  423 

Boaz  Woodley.  Himself  left  fatherless  at  an  early  age, 
and  at  the  very  crisis  of  his  fate  thrown  into  such 
strange  and  intimate  relations  with  this  many-sided  and 
childless  man,  it  was,  perhaps,  less  wonderful  than  at 
first  it  appeared  to  him  that  an  almost  paternal  and 
filial  relation  should  have  grown  up  between  them. 

"I  don't  know,  though,"  said  Woodley.  "It  don't 
seem  to  me  that  any  one  could  ever  have  been  nearer 
to  me  than  you  and  Lizzie  have  become." 

^^  Yet  you  did  not  come  to  our  house,  though  you 
know  your  room  is  always  waiting  for  you,"  said  Mark- 
ham. 

"There  were  two  reasons  for  that,  Markham,"  re- 
plied the  other.  "  In  the  first  place — well,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  flushed  to  his  temples,  "  the  young  man 
Horton,  I  did  not  wish  to  meet  him.  No  matter  why," 
as  he  saw  Markham  about  to  reply;  "I  could  give  a 
sufficient  reason  if  you  asked,  even  if  not  the  true  one ; 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  practice  either  falsehood  or  evasion 
with  you.  Besides  that,  I  had  a  strange  longing  to  get 
back  to  this  house  and  to  these  rooms  for  a  few  days. 
I  have  a  peculiar  attachment  to  this  house.  Somehow, 
it  seems  like  a  part  of  my  own  individuality;  much 
as,  I  should  imagine,  a  turtle's  shell  must  be  to  him. 
There  are  no  loose  joints  nor  unfilled  corners  about 
it  to  me.  It  is  the  perfect-fitting,  absolutely  satisfac- 
tory home  of  Boaz  Woodley.  I  have  one  relation  to  it 
that  no  turtle  could  have  to  his  covering.  It  is  the  sense 
of  creation.  I  created  this  home.  I  did  not  merely 
build  the  house  nor  modify  another's  plans,  but  I  put 
my  own  brain — my  own  idea  of  a  home  adapted  to  my 


424.  ^^<^^  ^^^    THISTLES. 

nature  and  my  life — into  this  house.  In  so  far,  it  is  a 
part  of  my  being — my  identity.  It  is  mine  in  a  sense 
in  which  few  men  can  claim  things  inanimate,  except 
those  which   are  worn  upon  the   person." 

"  There  are  few  men  who  could  have  succeeded  in 
impressing  their  personality  upon  a  building  as  you 
have  upon  this,"  said  Markham. 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Woodley ;  "  lack  of  thought 
leaves  its  mark  as  well  as  thought  itself.  It  took  me 
eight  years  to  evolve,  so  to  speak,  the  plan  of  this  house. 
Every  stick  of  timber  I  put  in  it  passed  under  my  own 
eye,  and  every  board  had  been  seasoning  in  the  shed  for 
three  years  at  least." 

"Indeed!"  said  Markham,  in  surprise.  "I  suppose, 
too,  you  have  many  pleasant  memories  connected  with 
the  house." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Woodley,  gravely ;  "  at  least,  not 
unpleasant.  I  have  never  been  a  happy  man — never. 
That  is,  not  what  you  would  call  happy.  Yet,  if  a  man 
is  prosperous,  healthy,  comfortable,  and  of  good  repute 
among  his  neighbors,  without  positive  affliction  or  actual 
annoyance,  he  cannot  be  said  to  be  really  unhappy. 
This  house  is  filled  with  such  memories  as  come  from 
such  a  life.  There  is  nothing  which  I  have  to  regret 
connected  with  it ;  and  the  past  which  it  marks  is  alto- 
gether peaceful.  I  never  brought  the  world  home  with 
me.  The  little  gate  yonder  shut  that  out.  I  never  saw 
a  client  or  looked  into  a  law-book  under  this  roof.  At 
the  office  yonder,  I  was  Boaz  Woodley,  Attorney-at- 
Law,  as  certified  by  the  sign.  Here  I  was — well,  myself. 
And,  by  the  way,  it  is  the  only  place  where  I  ever  have 


A    STORK'S  NEST.  425 

been  so.  I  don't  think  I  loved  my  wife  as  you  do  your 
Lizzie.  She  was  not  such  a  woman,  and  I  was  not  pre- 
pared to  love  any  one  better  when  we  married.  But 
she  was  a  good  woman,  and  oar  life  was  a  quiet,  peace- 
ful one.  She  studied  to  adapt  her  ways  to  mine,  and 
our  lives  came  very  close  in  her  later  years — as  close 
as  two  such  ever  could.  I  was  disappointed  in  my  son. 
It  is  the  only  sorrow  I  have  ever  known — such  as  people 
call  an  affliction,  I  mean ;  but  I  v/as  never  harsh  or  un- 
just to  him.  He  loved  me  with  the  blindest  devotion 
of  a  weak  nature,  and  I  loved  him  with  a  tenderness 
which  I  had  no  idea  I  possessed  before." 

"  What  a  strange  view  you  take  of  everything,"  said 
Markham. 

"  Perhaps."  Boaz  Woodley  smiled.  "  Yet  I  could 
tell  you  still  stranger  things,  and  just  as  true.  What 
would  you  think  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  have  thought 
more  as  to  what  should  become  of  this  house  after  my 
death  than  of  what  may  become  of  my  soul  when  it 
quits  its  tenement — more,  in  fact,  than  I  have  upon  the 
question  whether  I  have  a  soul  or  not .?" 

"  It  cannot  be  !"  said  Markham,  with  a  tone  express- 
ing something  akin  to  horror. 

"Yet  it  is  strictly  true.  I  don't  know  what  dispo- 
sition to  make  of  it.  I  don't  want  a  successor  coming 
in  here  who  will  mar  my  work  or  be  as  bad  a  misfit  as 
I  should  have  been  in  one  of  these  gaudy  show-houses 
around  us,  or  as  an  oyster  would  be  in  a  cockle-shell." 

"  You  might  leave  it  to  be  used  for  some  benevolent 
purpose,"  said  Markham. 

"No,  thank  you.     I  don't  want  any  beggars  scratch- 


426  ^JGS  AND    THISTLES. 

ing  their  backs  against  my  door-posts.  The  idea  of 
making  this,  Boaz  Woodley's  home,  into  any  sort  of  a 
gfegarium !  I  would  just  as  soon  make  it  a  caravansery 
for  dirty  teamsters!     Just  as  soon!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Markham,  flushing. 

"'  Oh,  I  know  you  did  not  mean  to  offend.  You 
had  no  idea  of  my  feeling.  Markham,"  said  he,  sud- 
denly wheeling  towards  his'  listener,  and  looking  at  him 
with  something  of  fierceness,  *'  do  you  think  you  and 
Lizzie  could  live  here  and  make  it  a  home — fit  your- 
selves to  it  as  well  as  I  have  done.?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Markham,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Of  course  you  can't  tell  at  once.  But  think  of  it. 
Think  seriously,  too,  because,  if  you  can — well,  no  mat- 
ter. If  you  cannot,  no  human  being  shall  live  in  it  an 
hour  after  I  am  done  with  it.  If  }'0U  cannot  use  it,  no 
one  shall  desecrate  it.  It  shall  be  burned  the  day  that 
I  am  buried." 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

UNDER      WHICH      KING.? 

THEN    the   conversation   wandered    away    to    other 
subjects,  for  it  v/as  becoming  loo  tragic  to  be  al- 
together pleasant  to  two  such  men  as  these. 

*'Ah,"  said  Woodley,  suddenly  shooting  across  the 
trifles  they  had  been  exchanging  sentences  upon  for  a 


UNDER    WHICH  KING?  427 

short  time;  "about  that  Trans-Continental  matter.  As 
I  told  you,  it  was  your  interest  that  kindled  mine. 
This  is  how  it  stands."  He  had  his  note-book  out  in  a 
moment,  and  showed  Markham  a  memorandum  account 
drawn  up  in  his  own  distinct  handwriting. 

"  You  recollect  that  you  gave  me  a  power  of  at- 
torney some  time  ago  to  invest  certain  sums  of  money 
for  you  at  my  discretion.  I  looked  this  Trans-Conti- 
nental up,  and  became  convinced  that  it  was  a  good 
thing— in  fact,  the  best  at  the  figures  it  has  been  held 
at  that  was  ever  offered  in  the  country.  I  took  hold 
of  it  for  you  and  for  myself.  The  land  the  Govern- 
ment has  given  it  alone  is  almost  an  empire.  Fifiy 
years  hencQ  it  is  certain  to  be  worth  many  times  the 
amount  necessary  to  build  the  road.  As  I  look  at  it, 
Markham,  that  stock  will  pay  you  a  good  dividend 
every  year  after  five  years,  and  by  the  time  you  are  at 
my  age  will  be  worth  a  thousand  per  cent,  advance. 
That  is  my  deliberate  conviction,  and  I  am  not  one  to 
be  easily  misled,  nor  am  I  counted  over-hopeful  in  such 
matters. 

"I  admit  there  are  two  difficulties  in  the  way: 
First,  the  enterprise  is  so  vast  that  the  outlay  of  capi- 
tal is  almost  unprecedented  in  any  private  corporation. 
Second,  we  must  be  able  to  control  certain  connections 
east  of  the  Mississippi,  and  the  right-of-way-  across 
that  stream.  These  are  the  points  aimed  at  in  the  bill 
to  which  you  object." 

"  I  have  thoroughly  examined  the  bill,  and  fully 
understand  its  purport,"  said  Markham. 

"Yes,  so  I   understood  you  to  say.     I  wish  I  had 


428  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

known  you  would  have  objected  to  it  at  an  earlier  day, 
and  I  would  not  have  invested  in  it  either  for  you  or 
myself.  As  it  is,  unfortunately,  the  success  of  the  road 
depends  on  that  bill,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  failure 
of  the  enterprise  means  loss — very  serious  loss — to  us. 
Here  it  is  in  black  and  white,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
page  of  the  open  memorandum-book. 

"You  know,  there  are  two  kinds  of  stock — what  is 
termed  '  paid-up  '  and  that  on  which  only  five  per  cent, 
has  been  paid,  the  remainder  being  subject  to  be  paid 
on  call  by  the  company.  Now,  you  will  see  that  I  have 
purchased  for  you  one  hundred  shares  of  the  '  paid-up  ' 
stock,  and  three  hundred  shares  on  which  five  per  cent, 
only  has  been  paid.  My  idea  was  that  a  large  portion 
of  this  would  not  have  to  be  paid  until  all  the  stock 
was  drawing  a  dividend,  perhaps  more  than  enough  to 
pay  the  calls.  It  is  morally  certain  that  this  will  be 
the  case  if  we  can  command  the  connections  and  make 
the  arrangements  provided  for  in  the  pending  bill.  If 
not,  then  the  whole  of  the  face  of  the  call-stock  will 
have  to  be  collected,  and  that  will  realize  only  enough 
to  enable  the  company  to  make  a  decent   failure." 

"  It  would  ruin  me,"  said  Markham,  quietly,  though 
the  sweat-beads  hung  upon  his  brow,  and  he  looked 
at  the  account  which  he  held  and  thought  what  it  would 
be  to  him  and  Lizzie — to  go  back  where  they  were  before 
he  had  met  Boaz  Woodley  and  begin  the  world  again. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  answered  Woodley,  as  calmly  as 
if  it  were  a  matter  of  little  moment.  *'Just  turn  over 
a  page  or  two,  and  see  what  it  would  do  for  me." 

Markham  turned  the  leaves  mechanically,  as  he  was 


UNDER    WHICH  KING?  429 

bidden,  and  looked  down  the  neat  columns  of  dates  and 
numbers  of  shares  purchased  by  Boaz  Woodley  until 
his  heart  grew  sick. 

"  You  see,  Markham,  I  have  acted  in  good  faith  in 

this,"  said   the   elder  man.     "I  have  not  placed    your 

money  or  your  credit  where  I  would  not  risk  my  own." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Markham.     "I  never  thought 

of  imputing  such  a  course  to  you." 

"I  did  not  know.  You  were  so  hot  about  the  bill 
the  other  night,  I  did  not  know  but  you  thought  I  might 
have  stuck  you  to  get  your  vote." 

"It  did  look  as  if  you  had  counted  on  the  vote." 

"Of  course  I  had  counted  on  it.  I  would  count 
on  any  man  in  his  senses  doing  what  is  for  his  own 
interest  when  it  cannot  hurt  any  one  and  it  the  only 
objection  is  that  it  might  be  inimical  to  the  interests  of 
some  unborn  millions  of  another  generation." 

"Yet  I  cannot  do  it,  Colonel  Woodley,"  said  Mark- 
ham, looking  him    steadily  in  the  face. 

Boaz  Woodley's  face  blanched,  and  the  hand  which 
ran  down  the  column  of  figures  trembled  as  he  said  in 
a  voice  hoarse  with  suppressed  emotion  : 

"You  see  those  figures,  I  suppose.''" 

"I  see  them!" 

"And  you  comprehend  that  while  it  impoverishes 
you  it  beggars  me  !" 

"  I  suppose  so,  from  the  amount." 

"Absolutely— utterly  !" 

"I  am  very  sorry." 

"Do  you  know  how  old   I  am.?" 

"I  suppose  sixty-four  or  five!" 


430  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES, 

"I  shall  be  seventy  in  a  week." 

"No!"  . 

"Do  you  know  what  beggary  is  at  three-score-and- 
ten  ?" 

"Oh,  God  I"  cried  Markham.  The  book  fell  from 
his  hand  ;  he  put  his  fingers  over  his  eyes,  pressing 
the  throbbing  balls  back  into  their  sockets  to  hide  the 
dreadful  picture. 

"  Do  you  realize  what  it  is  for  a  man  to  give  up 
all  that  he  has  toiled  fifty  years  to  achieve  and  ac- 
quire?" 

Markham  groaned. 

Woodley  proceeded  :  "  You  think  it  hard  to  give  up 
the  proceeds  of  ten  years  of  the  most  wonderful  luck 
a  young  man  ever  met  with !  What  do  you  think  of 
fifty  years  of  toil  swept  away  in  an  instant  V 

"What  shall  I  do.?"  moaned  the  young  man,  as  his 
frame  writhed  beneath  the  torture. 

"Could  you  not  say  or  do — ?wthing?'* 

Markham  was  silent. 

"  Men  have  been  excused  from  voting  before  now 
because  of  interest  in  the  subject-matter  of  bills  before 
legislative  bodies,"  continued  Woodley. 

"Excused  from  voting  for  them,"  said  Markham 
through  his  fingers;  "not  from  voting  against  them." 

"But  does  not  the  reason  hold?  It  is  interest  in 
either  case.  We  don't  compel  a  man  to  testify  against 
himself,  and  he  certainly  should  not  be  required  to  vote 
himself,  and  his  friends,  too,  into  the  poor-house." 

"As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he,"  flashed 
across  the  mind  of  Markham  Churr.    He  took  his  hands 


UNDER    WHICH  KING?  43 1 

from  his  face,  looked  into  the  other's  eyes,  and  said,  in 
a  low,  tremulous  voice : 

"I  cannot  do  it !  I  cannot  do  it!  The  bill  is 
wrong,  and  on  that  account  I  cannot  support  it.  To 
allow  it  to  pass  without  my  protest,  having  that  con- 
viction, would  be  cowardly  and  false  !  I  cannot  do 
it!" 

Boaz  Woodley  walked  up  and  down  the  room  once 
or  twice  before  he  spoke.  When  he  stopped  before 
Markham  Churr  his  face  was  ashy  pale  and  his  voice 
tremulous  with  passion. 

"You  refuse  to  do  either,  then?'* 

"I  must.  Colonel  Woodley!" 

"You  have  finally  decided.?'* 

"  I  have  !  God  helping  me!" 

"God  helping!  It's  too  late  for  hypocrisy  to  help ! 
Will  you  read  that,  sir,"  handing  him  a  bulky  document. 

Markham  took  it  and  glanced  over  it. 
"You  perceive  that  it  is  my  last  will  and  testament," 
said  Woodley,  with  a  sneer. 

Markham  bowed. 

"  That,  after  certain  devises,  it  names  yourself  and 
wife  as  joint  residuary  legatees!" 

''  So  I  perceive,"  said  Markham. 

''It  would  make  you  a  millionnaire." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Well,  sir,  allow  me  to  inform  3^ou,"  said  Woodley, 
as  he  tore  the  paper  from  Markham's  hands  and  threw 
it  into  the  fire,  "that  when  you  get  such  a  sum,  or  any 
other,  it  will  be  by  your  own  exertions,  and  not  by  the 
will  of  Boaz  Woodley.     Allow  me   also  to  inform  you 


432  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

that    it    makes   no   difference  whether   you  vote  for  or 
against  the  bill.     It  will  pass  in  any  event." 

"  At  least  I  shall  have  done  my  duty." 

*'  Duty ! "  sneered  Woodley.  "  You  will  have  show^n 
yourself  a  damned  ungrateful  cur!" 

''Colonel  Woodley,"  said  Markham,  springing  from 
his  chair,"  no  man  shall  use  such  language  toward  me." 

''Oh!  certainly,  certainly!"  said  Woodley,  bitterly, 
pointing  to  his  gray  hairs,  "by  all  means  strike  me.  I 
am  only  seventy.  It  would  be  a  brave  deed  for  an  ex- 
General  to  strike  the  man  to  whom  he  owes  everything 
but  life." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Colonel  Woodley,"  said  Mark- 
ham,  "I  owe  you  too  much  to  display  anger  towards 
you !  I  owe  you  a  debt  I  would  gladly  discharge  with 
my  life!" 

"  Oh !  you  owe  me,  do  you  "i  Yes,  you  owe  me 
twenty  thousand  dollars  for  money  advanced  by  your 
request,  and  you  shall  pay  every  farthing  as  soon  as  the 
law  will  permit,  if  it  makes  a  pauper  of  you  ;  yes,  and 
of  your  smooth-tongued  wife  too!" 

Boaz  W^oodley  was  too  keen  a  judge  of  human 
nature  not  to  know  that  the  tender  conscience  of  the 
wife  had  propped  and  strengthened  the  duller  and 
weaker  instinct  of  her  husband.  He  knew,  too,  that 
love  of  his  wife  was  the  tenderest  side  of  this  man. 

"  Yes,  go,"  he  added,  as  Markham  started  to  .the 
door.  "  Go,  with  the  knowledge  that  Boaz  Woodley  is 
your  enemy — made  so  by  your  cold,  base  ingratitude; 
that  he  will  never  see  you,  hear  your  name,  your  voice 
or  your  step,  without  cursing  you,  as  he  does  now^,  w^ith 


UNDER    WHICH  KIiVG? 


433 


the  anathema  of  an  old  man,  and  a  betrayed  and  out- 
raged friend  !" 

Markham  Churr  returned  home,  dull,  confused,  al- 
most prostrated,  by  the  terrible  scene  he  had  gone 
through.  He  felt  that  he  had  done  what  was  right, 
but  he  almost  wished  that  he  had  yielded  even  his 
conviction  to  one  entitled  to  require  so  much  from 
him. 

Boaz  Woodley  was  not  a  man  to  threaten  lightly. 
He  knew  that  nothing  would  change  the  determination 
of  Markham  Churr  in  the  matter;  he  would  oppose  the 
bill  at  all  hazards.  He  did  not  believe,  however,  that 
Churr  could  prevent  its  passage,  but  it  might  stimulate 
an  inquiry  which  would  be  fatal  to  the  success  of  the 
schemes  to  which  he  stood  committed.  The  President 
of  the  Trans-Continental  believed  in  that  road  most 
thoroughly,  and  was  willing  to  hazard  a  great  deal  for 
its  success;  but  fail  ire  had  come  too  near  for  him  to 
disregard  its  possibility.  Could  he  have  taken  a  quarter 
of  a  century  off  his  life,  he  would  not  have  dreamed  of 
doing  what  he  now  determined  upon.  Had  he  been 
sure  even  of  ten  years  more  of  life,  he  would  have  been 
equally  averse  to  this  course.  But  he  began  to  fear  age 
and  expect  death,  and  even  to  die  impoverished  or  re- 
duced as  he  would  be  should  this  bill  fail  to  pass  was 
a  horror  which  he  could  not  face.  He  did  not  fear  this 
crisis.  The  most  superhuman  effort  of  a  marvelous  life 
he  was  sure  had  been  sufficient  to  prevent  that.  But 
he  must  not  risk  another.  The  stock  would  rise  as 
soon  as  the  bill  passed,  and  he  must  get  rid  of  a  good 
portion   of  what   he  carried.     To  provide   against  the 


434 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


possibility  of  loss  must  be  his  first  work;  to  punish  the 
ingrate  whom  he  had  nursed,  his  next. 

So  he  wrote  letters  at  once  to  several  brokers  with 
whom  he  had  had  business  relations  hitherto,  of  which 
the  following  is  a  specimen : 

"James  Dunn,  No.  99  Wall  Street,  New  York: 

^^  Sir  —  Sell  on  my  account  one  thousand  shares 
T.  C.  paid  up,  and  five  hundred  subject  to  call,  and 
buy  all  the  Lake  Shore  &  Rock  Island  you  can  get  at 
present  rates.  If  you  have  chances,  you  may  double 
sales  to  get  hold  of  the  connecting  stocks. 

"Resp'y,  BoAZ  Woodley." 

"That  will  do,"  said  he.  "It  will  keep  the  T..  C. 
firm,  and  send  up  the  others.  The  result  will  be  that 
they  will  sell  the  one  and  be  unable  to  buy  the  other." 

Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  Markham  and  his 
revenge.  The  papers  were  already  drawn.  The  mine 
was  laid,  and  he  had  only  to  spring  it  to  destroy  the 
man  he  had  raised  up.  He  walked  over  to  the  court- 
house, filed  a  p7'ecipe  in  the  clerk's  office,  and  took  out 
a  summons,  which  he  put  in  the  hands  of  the  Sheriff, 
also  a  copy  of  a  petition,  drawn  in  his  own  handwriting, 
and  accompanied  by  a  bill  of  particulars,  showing  an 
indebtedness  on  the  part  of  the  defendant  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars. 

While  they  sat  at  tea,  the  bell  rang,  and  the  Sheriff 
asked  to  see  Gen.  Churr  a  moment  at  the  door.  He 
went,  and  the  papers  were  served.  It  was  no  surprise 
to  him.  He  took  the  copies,  and  after  supper  showed 
them  to   Lizzie,  and  told  her  all  that  had  occurred. 


UNDER    WHICH  KIXG?  4,^ 

"And  what  will  you  do?"   she  asked. 

He  turned  to  his  writing-table  and  drew  an  answer, 
admitting  ail  the  allegations  of  the  petition,  and  read 
it  to  her  in  reply. 

"And  what  will  be  the  effect  of  that  ?"  she  inquired. 

"He  will  have  judgment  against  me  for  twenty 
thousand  dollars,"  he  replied. 

"And  then.?"  she  asked;  and  her  voice  was  firm^ 
though  her  cheek  paled,  and  her  lip  quivered. 

"He  will  have  execution,  and  in  thirty  days  may 
sell  all  that  we  have,"  he  said,  with  some  bitterness. 

"And  what  have  we.?  I  mean,  how  much  is  what 
we  have  worth  .?"  she  questioned. 

"This  property,  you  know,  cost  me  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  was  considered  a  bargain.  It  is  true 
AVoodley  gave  it  to  you,  but  I  repaid  him.  I  suppose 
it  would  be  liable.  Then  my  library,  horses,  and  fur- 
niture would  bring,  perhaps,  five  thousand,  and  the 
hundred  paid-up  shares  of  the  T.  C.  R.  Co.,  whose  value 
may  be  a  dollar  or  ten  thousand." 

"  Will  what  we  have  pay  the  debt .?" 

"I  should  think  so,  or  nearly  so." 

"  Then,  my  dear,"  she  said,  as  she  seated  herself  on 
his  knee,  and  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck,  "let  us 
not  be  discouraged.  We  can  begin  again.  We  have 
learned  much,  and  have  tried  to  do  right.  We  are 
only  two,  as  when  we  began  before.  I  think  I  can  see 
now,  Markham,  why  God  took  our  little  one  away." 

Their  tears  flowed  softly  together  at  the  mention  of 
this,  -their  only  affliction ;  but  they  were  not  bitter  tears. 
And,  on  the  whole,  they  slept  with  peaceful  hearts  that 


43^ 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


last  night  they  expected  to  be  together  in  the  home 
where  they  had  been  so  happy  that  they  had  christened 
it  "Heart's  Ease."  Had  you  seen  them  as  they  chatted 
next  morning,  over  the  early  breakfast,  before  Markham 
started  for  the  morning  train,  or  looked  upon  the  glow- 
ing face  of  Lizzie  as  she  stood  at  sunrise  on  the  porch 
and  bade  her  husband  ''  God-speed,"  with  love-lit  eyes 
and  clinging  kisses,  you  would  not  have  dreamed  that 
he  went  to  the  heaviest  of  duties,  or  that  both  looked 
forward  to  swift-coming  poverty. 


CHAPTER    L. 

IN    THE    lion's    den. 

IT  was  the  third  day  after  Markham  had  left  Lanes- 
ville,  that  Lizzie,  dressed  with  exceeding  care,  quit- 
ted her  house,  and,  crossing  the  street,  rang  the  bell  at 
the  door  from  which  her  husband  had  gone  forth  with 
the  owner's  curses  ringing  in  his  ears  but  a  few  days 
before.  It  was  hardly  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
the  bright  winter  sunshine  was  transforming  the  crystal- 
line snow  into  many-colored  jewels,  and  lighting  up  her 
fair  face  with  a  rosy  brightness  which  Boaz  Woodley 
could  but  notice  vrhen  he  answered  her  summons. 
That  he  was  surprised  at  the  sight  of  the  trim  figure 
which  stood  at  his  door  and  looked  into  his  eyes  with  a 
calm,  earnest  gaze  as  she  greeted  him  pleasantly,-  she 
did  not  need  to  be  told. 


IN    THE  LIOX'S  DEN-.  437 

He  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and  then  a  gleam 
of  fire  shot  into  his  eyes.  He  bowed  obsequiously  as 
he  returned  her  greeting,  and  said,  coolly: 

"Will  it  please  you  to  walk  in,  Mrs  Churr?" 

"Of  course  it  will,"  she  responded,  with  a  light 
laugh.  "You  did  not  suppose  I  came  over  here  just  to 
stand  in  your  front  porch,  did  you.''" 

Woe  betide  the  man  who  tries  to  out-maneuver  a 
woman  in  a  wordy  battle.  Lizzie  knew  that  she  stood 
upon  vantage-ground  from  the  fiist.  So  she  sat  in  the 
quaint  study,  occupying  the  great  arm-chair  which  had 
been  gallantly  surrendered  to  her,  and  prattled  lightly 
of  indifferent  things,  while  the  great  man  whose  strength 
had  been  in  his  power  to  manipulate  others  sat  by  and 
admired  her  quiet  tact,  admitting  to  himself  that  he  had 
been  outdone  in  the  skirmish  for  position.  But  he  said 
to  himself: 

"  Let  the  silly  creature  prate.  I  will  crush  her  when 
I  choose.     Pretty  feathers  will  not  pay  judgments." 

Boaz  Woodley  had  not  exaggerated  when  he  told 
Markham  of  his  fondness  for  Lizzie.  What  he  had 
done  had  cost  him  not  a  little,  but  revenge  is  sweet. 
It  was  very  sweet  to  Boaz  Woodley— very  sweet  and 
very  bitter.  He  thought  so  as  he  stood  looking  down 
on  the  woman  who  had  been  to  him  as  a  daughter. 
Finally  she  spoke. 

"  I  came  to  speak  with  you  of  your  relations  to 
Markham,  Mr.  Woodley." 

"  Indeed,"  said  he,  with  sarcastic  coolness. 

"Yes,"  she  continued.  "He  has  informed  me  of 
the  purport  of  a  conversation  which  he  held  with  you 


438  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

the  other  day,  and  I  came  to  assure  you  that  he  is  much 
distressed  because  his  sense  of  duty  compels  him  to 
act  contrary  to  your  wishes  or  your  interest." 

"And  you  are  quite  sure,  Madam,"  said  Woodle}^, 
sneeringly,  "that  is  the  cause  of  his  distress!" 

"Very  sure,"  she  replied. 

"  The  fact  that  he  owes  me  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
of  course,  does  not  trouble  him  at  all?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  answered,  calmly,  "he  only 
regrets  that  he  gave  you  power  to  make  investments 
for  him.  He  did  give  it,  however,  and  he  has  no  doubt 
you  acted  honestly  for  what  you  thought  to  be  his 
interest  in  the  purchase  of  the  shares." 

"  As  much  so  as  if  he  had  been  my  son,"  said  Wood- 
ley,  earnestly. 

"He  does  not  doubt  that,"  said  Lizzie,  "and  there- 
fore admits  that  he  is  bound,  both  legally  and  morally, 
to  pay  you  the  sum  thus  advanced  on  his  account." 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  said  Woodley,  "  he  is  too  good  a 
lawyer  not  to  know  that." 

"And,  therefore,"  said  Lizzie,  "I  am  authorized  to 
pay  you  the  money  upon  delivery  of  the  stock  and 
the  withdrawal  of  the  suit;  or,  if  you  insist  upon  the 
continuance  of  the  action,  to  confess  judgment  upon 
the  shares  of  stock  being  paid  into  court  for  his  use 
and  subject  to  his  order." 

"What!"  he  cried,  in  surprise,  "you  have  come  to 
pay  me  the  money.?" 

"Yes." 

"But  the  summons  was  only  served  three  days  ago." 

"  That  is  very  true,   and   it   should   not   have   been 


AV    THE   LIOX'S  DEN.  43^, 

served  at  all.  My  husband  would  have  paid  you  cheer- 
fully without  suit.    You  wished  to  humiliate  us,  however." 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  said  Woodley.  ''  But  how  did 
he  raise  the  money.?" 

"  Chiefly  by  the  sale  of  our  house,"  she  answered, 
quietly. 

"But  that  was  yours,"  he  said,  in  surprise.  "A 
judgment  could  not  have  touched  that." 

"Markham  said  he  thought  it  would,  for,  though  it 
was  a  gift  from  you,  he  had  repaid  it,"  she  answered. 

"  The  d — excuse  me.  The  fool !  I  never  appro- 
priated a  dollar  of  that  money,  but  invested  it  for  him," 
said  Woodley,  angrily. 

"I  would  not  hold  it  while  my  husband's  debts  were 
unpaid,  at  all  events." 

Boaz  Woodley  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

*'Well,"  he  said,  finally,  "you  are  a  wonderful 
woman.  I  am  half-tempted  to  withdraw  the  suit  from 
sheer  admiration  of  your  pluck.  So  you  have  made 
yourself  homeless  to  pay  your  husband's  debts !  But 
you  did  not  get  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  the  place 
did  you?" 

"  Oh,  no.  I  threw  in  the  horses  and  furniture," 
she  replied,  "  and  put  with  it  a  little  I  had  saved,  to 
make  up  the  amount." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know  that  you 
have  made  yourself  as  poor  as  a  church-mouse.?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  I  expect  to  make  a 
fortune  out  of  that  stock  which  you  say  in  your  petition 
now  stands  in  your  name,  but  is  really  Markham 's,  and 
which  you  will  now  transfer  to  me." 


440  FIGS  ^^"^    THISTLES. 

■*'Ah!  yes,"  said  Woodley,  exultantly,  "I  see  your 
game,  Mrs  Churr.  You  are  a  shrewd  woman  and  a 
brave  one,  but  you  cannot  outwit  Boaz  Woodley — not 
yet.  You  could  not  have  devised  it,  however.  Your 
precious  husband  has  put  up  a  sharp  job,  but  it  won't 
win!" 

"My  husband  knows  nothing  of  what  I  have  done 
or  intend  doing." 

"Oh,  of  course  not,"  said  Woodley,  as  he  rose  and 
paced  the  room.  "  He  never  laid  this  beautiful  plan 
to  save  himself  from  disgrace.  He  never  sent  you, 
Madam,  with  your  smooth  tongue,  to  wheedle  old 
Woodley  to  withdraw  his  suit  and  transfer  the  stocks 
to  your  name  ///  order  to  shield  him!  Ha!  ha!"  he 
laughed,  "  it  was  a  splendid  plan,  but,  unfortunately  for 
its  success,  Boaz  \Voodley  has  passed  his  first  child- 
hood and  has  not  yet  reached  his  second!" 

"So  you  refuse  to  comply  with  my  request.'*"  asked 
Lizzie,  quietly,  though  there  \vas  a  tremor  about  her  lips 
and  a  pallor  in   her  cheek  that  bespoke  her  excitement. 

"Refuse'"  said  Woodley,  hoarsely,  as  he  stood  be- 
fore her  and  raised  his  hand  and  shook  the  index  finger 
in  her  face.  "  Refuse  !  I  should  think  I  did,  Madam  ! 
You  did  not  think  I  cared  about  the  money,  did  you  } 
It  was  revenge  I  wanted — revenge  upon  an  ungrateful 
miscreant  who — " 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Woodley,"  she  cried,  springing  to  her 
feet,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  No  man  shall  speak  thus  of 
my  husband  in  my  presence — least  of  all  you,  Boaz 
W^oodley  !"  she  added,  scornfully. 

"  Hoity-toily !"  he  cried,  mockingly,  "and  how  long 


I.V   rilE  LION'S  DEN.  441 

has  it  been  that  Madam  could  afford  to  despise  Boaz 
Woodley?  Who  took  her  husband  from  the  ranks  and 
made  him  a  General?  Who  found  him  obscure,  and 
made  him  a  Congressman  ?  Who  made  him  rich  and 
respected  that  was  a  plodding  beggar  before?" 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  Markham,  Mr.  Wood- 
ley.  We  can  never  forget  that,  but  do  not  press  me 
too  far  ?  Remember  that  a  woman  jealous  of  her  hus- 
band's honor  is  a  dangerous  thing!  Do  not  drive  me 
too  far,"  said  Lizzie,  earnestly,  "or  you  will  regret  it. 
Remember,  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  not  be  silent  always !" 

"What,  does  she  threaten?"  sneered  the  great  man, 
as  he  towered  above  her  in  wrathful  pride.  "  The  worm 
whom  I  have  nourished !  Know,  Mistress  Markham 
Churr,  that  I  have  loved  you  and  your  husband  better 
than  Boaz  Woodley  ever  loved  one  not  of  his  own  blood 
before — aye,  perhaps  better  than  he  loved  even  that!" 

"You  have  been  very  kind,"  said  Lizzie,  interrupting 
him,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  laying  her  hand  per- 
suasively on  his  arm.  "  You  have  been  very  kind — a 
father  to  us — and  we  have  loved  you  as  such.  Mr. 
Woodley,  I  love  you — Markham  loves  you.  If  you  are 
so  angry  with  him  that  you  cannot  forgive  him,  let  us 
at  least  part  in  kindness.  Let  me  pay  you  the  money, 
and  you  withdraw  the  suit  and  transfer  to  me  those 
stocks  which  have  been  the  cause  of  all  this  trouble." 

''Transfer  the  stock  to  you?"  said  Woodley.  "Do 
you  persist  in  thinking  me  a  fool?  Will  you  not  under- 
stand that  as  much  as  I  once  loved  Markham  Churr, 
so  much  and  more  I  hate  him  now  ?  That  stock  be- 
longs to  the   Honorable   MarWiam  Churr,  the  virtuous 


442  ^^(^^  ^^^    THISTLES. 

member  of  Congress  Avho  is  about  to  inveigh  against 
the  road  in  which  he  has  an  interest !  Do  you  suppose 
that  any  one  will  believe  that  he  never  authorized  me 
to  purchase  those  shares,  but  that  I  did  it  on  my  own 
unbiased  judgment  ?  Not  a  word  of  it.  They  will  say 
he  was  to  receive  that  amount  for  his  influence  and 
services ;  that  he  wanted  more,  and  threatened  to  turn 
against  the  road  if  it  was  not  given;  that,  when  he  did 
so,  I  sued  him  for  money  expended  for  his  benefit,  and 
to  avoid  a  trial — to  avoid  exposure — he,  the  Honorable 
Markham  Churr,  confessed  judgment  and  forced  his 
v/ife  to  sell  her  home  to  pay  it  in  order  to  secure  his 
good  name  !  That  is  what  they  will  say.  That  is  what 
I  want  them  to  say.  I  don't  want  your  money,  woman. 
I  want  revenge.  Do  you  understand  1  I  want  to  show 
you,  Madam,  and  your  canting  sneak  of  a  husband, 
that  Boaz  Woodley  can  unmake  his  own  creations — can 
crush  as  well  as  build  up  !  Do  you  hear,  Lizzie  Churr  .^ 
I  will  make  the  name  of  v/hich  you  are  so  proud  a 
stench  and  a  reproach  in  the  whole  country.  I  will 
illustrate  your  Bible  to  you.  I  will  cover  him  '  with 
shame  as  with  a  garment.'  I  will  make  you  thank  God 
that  your  child  is  dead.  L  will  make  you  pray  hourly 
that  you  may  never  have  another.  Do  you  understand 
now  ?  I  would  not  transfer  those  shares  to  you  for 
forty  thousand  dollars — no,  not  for  a  hundred  thousand. 
Those  shares  and  this  suit  are  the  first  step  toward 
my  revenge.  Ha  !  ha  !  The  Honorable  Markham  Churr 
shall  come  out  of  Congress  !  The  election  comes  on 
next  fall !  He  shall  come  out,  disgraced  and  beggared  ! 
You  knov/  the  people  (ff  this   District.     How  they  will 


IN    THE   LION'S  DEN.  443 

despise  a  cowardly  hypocrite  such  as  they  will  believe 
him  to  be  !" 

"You  dare  not  do  it,  Boaz  Woodley;  you  dare  not 
try  it!"  cried   Lizzie,  in  tones  of  defiance. 

"  Dare  not  ?     And  why,  pray  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  lie.  You  know  my  husband  never 
became  a  party  to  your  conspiring  to  make  this  Trans- 
Continental  Road  a  gigantic  swindle.  He  did  believe 
the  road  was  needed,  would  be  a  good  thing  for  the 
country,  and  the  best  use  to  which  the  public  lands 
could  be  put  would  be  to  build  it.  I  think  he  believes 
that  now.  But  you  wish  to  make  those  who  have  hon- 
estly put  their  money  in  the  road  lose  their  investments 
— the  rich  of  their  abundance  and  the  poor  their  all — 
in  order  that  a  few  of  you  who  are  in  a  ring — jobbers, 
contractors,  whatever  you  call  yourselves — may  get  it 
all!  And,  because  my  husband  will  not  consent  to  this, 
you  mean  to  defame  and  crush  him.  You  cannot  do  it, 
Boaz  Woodley.  I,  his  wife,  tell  you  so,  and  in  his 
name  defy  you  !" 

"Ah!  this  is  very  brave!  This  is  splendid!"  cried 
Woodley,  rubbing  his  hands  gleefully.  "And  what  will 
the  little  woman  do  v/hen  these  rumors  begin  to  creep 
through  the  District — when  men  who  were  her  husband's 
friends  begin  to  avoid  him  upon  the  street,  to  turn  away 
from  him  in  the  court-room,  to  ignore  him  in  public  as- 
semblies, to  speak  of  him  with  scorn  }  What  will  she 
do  when  the  wives  of  good  citizens  look  upon  her  with 
pity  and  treat  her  with  neglect }  Will  she  go  to  every 
man  and  woman  in  the  District — nay,  in  the  whole  land, 
and  whimper :  '  It  is  no^  so.     It  is  not  true.    Mv  husband 


444 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


was  not  in  the  ring.  He  was  only  very  simple-minded 
and  credulous.  He  let  Mr.  Woodley  buy  and  sell  on 
his  account,  guaranteeing  him  against  loss,  and  receiving 
profit,  without  knowing  what  this  agent  bought  or  did. 
It  is  true  the  agent  happened  to  be  Boaz  Woodley,  the 
President  of  the  Trans-Continental  Company;  but  my 
husband,  my  innocent,  honorable  husband,  never  thought 
of  that.  It  is  true,  too,  that  this  Woodley,  the  President 
of  the  Trans-Continental  Company,  has  long  been  my 
husband's  chiefest  friend — had  taken  him  from  obscurity 
and  placed  him  in  power.  My  husband's  home  was  also 
the  hom.e  of  Woodley.  His  door  was  ahvays  open,  day 
or  night,  to  this  privileged  friend.  I,  his  wife,  gave  Boaz 
Woodley  my  confidence,  my  society — aye,  -a  daughter's 
caresses.  He  v/as  the  nearest  of  friends — a  benefactor 
and  a  father  to  us  both.  As  his  kindness  was  un- 
bounded, so  was  our  trust  in  him  unlimited  ?'  This  is 
what  you  would  say.  This  is  what  truth  would  compel 
you  to  say.  And  what  would  you  add  :  '  But  my  hus- 
band never  talked  with  him  about  the  Trans-Continental. 
He  knew  nothing  about  his  schemes  in  regard  to  that.' 
Oh,  lame  and  impotent  conclusion !  Who  could  be 
found  to  believe  it  V 

"But  it  is  true,"  said  Lizzie,  with  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks,  and  her  hunds  clasped  tightly  before 
her.     "  It  is  true,  Boaz  Woodley,  as  you  know  " 

"  Yes,  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction  very  often,"  he 
responded,  with  a  chuckle ;  and  when  it  is,  people  always 
believe  the  lie  in  preference  to  the  truth.  Yes,  it  is  true. 
Your  husband  has  such  absurd  notions  about  what  he 
calls  '  right,'  and  ^  honor,'  and  '  truth,'  that  I  never  dared 


IN   THE  LION'S  DEN.  445 

let  him  know  what  I  was  doing  for  liim,  for  I  thought 
and  intended  that  it  should  all  be  for  him  in  the  end. 
I  was  always  afraid  he  would  get  on  his  high-horse, 
and,  while  charging  some  windmill  notion,  run  his  spear 
through  his  friends.  I  did  not  think  that  he  was  mean 
enough  to  injure  me  deliberately,  but  feared  he  might 
do  so  unknowingly.  So  I  kept  quiet  on  everything  that 
could  awaken  any  of  his  whims  until  the  very  last 
minute.  Gad!  it's  well  I  spoke  then.  If  we  bad 
counted  on  him  without  sounding  him  first,  as  all  the 
rest  thought  we  could,  we  m.ight  have  been  caught  in  a 
deal  of  a  mess.  Yes,  it's  true,  as  you  say;  but  nobody 
will  believe  it.  And  that  makes  my  revenge  all  the 
more  complete.  Your  husband  pretends  to  believe  in 
the  innate  pov\'er  of  truth — that  it  is  mighty  and  will 
prevail !" 

"  He  does  believe  it,  and  it  is  true,"  said  Lizzie, 
vehemently. 

"Yes,"  continued  Woodley,  ^^ you  believe  it.  I  give 
yo7t.  credit  for  sincerity  in  that.  And  you  have  tried  to 
indoctrinate  him  with  the  same  confidence  in  the  preter- 
natural power  of  truth  for  self-assertion  and  vindication. 
Well,  now  you  will  have  an  opportunity  to  test  your 
theory." 

"  But  surely.  Colonel  Woodle\^"  said  Lizzie,  "  ycu 
will  tell  the  truth  when  appealed  to,  and  vindicate,  by 
your  own  word,  the  character  of  my  husband?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Churr.  I  rather  think 
now  that  I  shall.  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  lie  unless 
something  is  to  be  gained  by  so  doing.  Not  that  I  am 
afraid  to  lie,  or  would  hesitate  to  do  so  if  necessary ,  but 


446 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


it  is  generally  easier  to  establish  and  stand  by  a  fact 
than  an  invention.  A  man's  memory  is  less  reliable  as 
to  what  he  has  invented  than  as  to  what  he  has  experi- 
enced. I  suppose  I  should  tell  the  truth  if  questioned ; 
but  I  should  do  it  in  such  a  manner  that  everyone 
v.-ould  believe  what  I  said  to  be  a  lie.  If  necessary  to 
my  revenge,  though,  I  would  tell  any  number  of  lies — • 
yes,  and  swear  to  them,  too!" 

"  Oh  !  Colonel  Woodley,"  cried  Lizzie,  in  distressed 
tones.  "  Don't,  don't — for  your  own  sake,  don't  speak 
so  !     I  know  3^ou  do  not  mean  it;  you  cannot  mean  it !" 

''  Do  not  mean  it }  Boaz  Woodley  does  not  mean 
it?"  he  exclaimed.  "Ah,  if  yoa  knew  to  whom  you  are 
speaking  !  If  you  knew  how  long  Boaz  Woodley  had 
lived  a  lie,  you  would  not  wonder  that  he  had  ceased  to 
fear  falsehood."' 

Lizzie's  cheek  grew  pale,  but  her  voice  was  firm,  as 
she  said,  looking  him  full  in  the  eye  ■ 

"  I  do  know  it  1" 

"Know  what.^"  he  asked,  raising  his  eyebrows  and 
drawing  down  his  lip,  with  an  incredulous  sneer. 

"  Both  the  lie  you  have  lived,  and  how  long  you 
have  lived  it !"  she  answered,  solemnly. 

"Indeed!"  he  cried,  in  mocking  tones.  "And  will 
the  oracle  speak?  Will  she  deign  to  reveal  the  past? 
Pray  be  seated  again.  I  promise  myself  a  rich  treat. 
Read  my  heart,  unravel  my  life,  and  tell  me  how  long 
It  has  exemplified  a  lie  !"  He  threw  himself  into  a 
chair  as  he  spoke,  and,  with  his  head  upon  one  side, 
his  legs  crossed,  and  rubbing  his  hands  together,  looked 
up  into  her  face.     She  was  as  pale  as  marble,  but  her 


IN    THE   LION'S  DEN,  447 

eyes  turned  full  on  him  with  a  gaze  from  which  his 
own  mocking  orbs  half-shrunk. 

"Proceed,  Madam!"  he  cried.  "I  am  dying  to 
know  what  you  can  reveal.  Since  when,  think  you,  has 
Boaz  Woodley  been  engaged  in  the  very  creditable 
business  of  enacting  a  lie  to  amuse  the  world  which 
regards  him  as  so  matter-of-fact  and  prosaic.^" 

"Colonel  Woodley,"  she  said,  beseechingly,  "do  not 
drive  me  to  desperation.  We  owe  you  much,  my  hus- 
band and  I.  Do  not  force  me  to  strike  in  his  defence. 
Do  not  make  me  choose  between  my  husband  and  our 
benefactor.  W^ithdraw  your  suit,  give  me  the  order  for 
the  transfer  of  the  shares,  and  let  me  go  home." 

"Oh!  no.  Madam.  That  is  too  common  a  gypsy 
trick.  You  cannot  deal  in  vague  hints  and  gain  the 
name  of  a  fortune-teller  with  me.  I  am  not  afraid  of 
threats.  I  have  heard  them  before.  You  must  verify 
your  words,  and  tell  how  long  I  have  lived  a  lie,  or 
acknowledge  yourself  a  liar.  Come,  now,  my  charming 
child,  my  sometime  daughter — since  when  ?" 

"Since  the  nineteenth  day  of  April,  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  twenty-one,"  she  said,  in  calm,  even  tones. 

Had  a  thunderbolt  burst  in  the  room,  the  effect 
could  not  have  been  more  surprising.  Boaz  Woodley 
sprang  from  his  chair  as  if  his  seventy  years  were  but 
a  feather's  weight  to  his  giant  frame.  His  face  was 
ashen  m  its  pallor,  his  jaws  strained  close,  his  brows 
drawn  down  with  agonized  surprise,  his  eyes,  staring 
with  amazement,  seemed  to  devour  her  looks  with  a 
hungry  eagerness,  as  he  leaned  over  her  and  hissed  in 
her  ear,  in  a  hoarse,  threater.ing  whisper  : 


448  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  nineteenth  of  Afril, 
eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-one?     Speak!" 

She  did  not  quail,  but  eye  and  voice  were  firm  as 
she  replied  : 

"I  know  that  Boaz  Woodley  is  Basil  Woodson." 

The  great  hands  clasped  the  massive  brow ;  the 
fierce  eyes  closed,  with  quivering  lids ;  the  strong  jaw 
drooped ;  the  mighty  frame  quivered  for  an  instant, 
and  then  sank,  limp  and  powerless,  with  an  unconscious 
groan,  into  the  chair  from   which  he  had  just  risen. 

It  was  but  for  an  instant,  though.  He  had  battled 
too  long  to  give  up  at  one  blow.  He  put  dov\'n  his 
hands  presently,  and  looked  up,  with  a  dull,  dogged  stare. 

"And  how  did  you   learn  this.  Madam.?" 

"  You  remember.  Colonel  Woodley,  you  employed 
my  husband  that  is  now,  my  lover  then,  in  the  matter 
of  the  Aychitula  Bank." 

"Yes,  damn  the  viper!"  said  Woodley,  starting  up. 
"  I  always  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  playing  me  false. 
I  swear  he  has  kept  his  counsel  vreli  all  these  years! 
He  is  deeper  than  I  thought.  But,  by  heaven!  I'll 
checkmate  him  yet.  I'll  have  my  revenge,  if  it  costs 
me  my  life!  Do  you  hear?"  he  shouted.  "I  will  have 
revenge  if  I  die  the  instant  it  is  accomplished!" 

Lizzie's  lip  grew  pale,  but  she  did  not  tremble.  Her 
eyes  burned  with  a  steady  blaze  as  she  said  : 

"  My  husband  was  never  false  to  you  or  any  other 
man,  Colonel  Woodley.  He  could  not  be.  He  knew 
nothing  of  your  box  until  it  was  handed  him  by  the 
express-messenger,  and  has  no  idea  to-day  from  whom 
it  came." 


IN   THE  LION'S  DEN.  449 

"He  tells  you  that?" 

"I  know  it!" 

"How,  pray?" 

"I  sent  it  to  him  myself." 

"You?     You  sent  it  to  him?" 

"I  did." 

"And  how,  pray,  did  you  come  to  have  possession 
of  my  property?" 

"I  dug  it  up  in  the  garden  of  Thomas  Horton." 

"At  what  time?" 

"  On  the  night  of  the  tenth  of  August,  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  sixty." 

"And  how  did  you  know  it  was  there?" 

"  I  was  visiting  Amy  Levis,  being  anxious  to  see  the 
place  where  the  crime  was  committed  which  Markham 
was  investigating.  My  attention  was  directed  to  a  with- 
ered currant-bush.  After  I  went  to  bed,  I  dreamed  that 
the  lost  box  was  buried  under  it.     I  dug  and  found  it." 

"And  when  did  you  tell  Markham  Churr  of  this?" 

"I  have  never  told  him." 

"What,  never  told  him  of  this  exploit?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"You  opened  the  box,  or  found  it  open? 

"I  opened  it." 

"And  you."  said  he,  coming  towards  her  with  his 
hand  clinched  and  face  working  with  passion :  "  you 
purloined  the  paper  which  I  lost,  and  so  guessed  my 
secret." 

"On  the  contrary,  when  I  packed  up  the  box  to  send 
to  Markham,  I  thought  I  had  put  every  scrap  of  paper 
in  it  which  it  contained  when  it  came  into  my  posses- 


45° 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


sion.  When  Markham  came  back  and  told  me  oY  your 
rage  at  its  loss,  I  was  much  surprised.  I  searched  in 
my  room,  and  could  only  find  a  copy  of  an  old  news- 
paper. I  was  confident  that  this  was  all  that  could 
have  been  lost,  but  I  could  not  account  for  your  excite- 
ment in  regard  to  it.  I  read  it  again  and  again,  until 
I  had  committed  almost  every  line,  even  of  the  adver- 
tisements, to  memory.  I  was  sure  that  it  contained  the 
key  to  your  life  if  I  could  only  find  it.  I  knew  you 
could  be  a  dangerous  man,  and  I  feared  you  might 
sometime  get  Markham  into  your  power,  or  seek  to  do 
so." 

"So  you  put  yourself  on  my   track  did  you.?" 

"I  tried  to  read  the  riddle   of  your  life." 

"And  while  I  was  pushing  your  husband's  fortune 
you  were  trying   to  find  a  way  to  injure  me?" 

''I  was  trying  to  find  the  weak  spot  in  your  armor, 
so  that  you  should  not  be  able  to  destroy  my  husband 
should   he  ever  be  required  to  thwart  your  will." 

"Well,  what  did  you  do.>" 

"  I  went  to  Westbridge,  Massachusetts,  where  the 
paper  was  printed." 

"And   found  out  what?" 

"Nothing  that  gave  me  any  light." 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  Woodley,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  I  learned  all  I  could  of  everyone  who  was  named 
in  tliat  paper,  however." 

"Indeed?     But  that  was  not  much." 

"Not  much  of  some.     Nothing  of  others." 

"So  I  thought." 


IN    THE  LION'S  DEN,  ^ci 

"I  learned,  in  detail,  however,  the  history  of  one 
person  who  was  very  pointedly  mentioned  In  the  paper, 
and  that  person  was  Basil  Woodson." 

"Ah!  what  was  that  history?" 

"  That  he  was  taken  from  poverty  in  his  childhood 
by  a  good  man  whose  love  he  won,  became  his  confi- 
dential clerk  and  intended  heir;  that  he  falsified  his 
benefactor's  accounts  and  purloined  his  money  to 
squander  it  at  the  gaming-table ;  that  when  detected 
m  his  crime  there  was  a  fierce  quarrel  between  him 
and  his  benefactor;  that  on  the  night  of  that  day  the 
desk  of  the  merchant  was  robbed,  and  the  merchant 
hmiself  left  dead  in  his  counting-room  with  a  knife  be- 
longing to  Basil  Woodson  buried  in  his  heart— and  Basil 
Woodson  himself  had  disappeared.  He  was  indicted  for 
forgery  and  murder,  but  was  never  apprehended  nor 
tried." 

During  her  recital  Woodley  had  gradually  recovered 
his  confidence. 

"A  very  pretty  romance!  So  you  guessed  that  I 
was  none  other  than  Basil  Woodson.^  A  shrewd  guess, 
perhaps,  but  a  long  way  from  j^roof." 

"Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  "at  that  time  I  had  no 
idea  that  you  were  he." 

"Then  Avhy  did  you  suppose  I  had  the  paper  in  my 
possession.?"  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  you  had  been  attracted  by  the  reward  of 
five  thousand  dollars  offered  for  his  apprehension,  and, 
v/ith  your  usual  tenacity  of  purpose,  had  never  quite 
given  over  the  search  for  him,"  she  answered. 

"Then,  why  did  you  give  me  that  name  just  now.?" 


452  PIGS  ^^D    THISTLES. 

"Accident  threw  in  my  way  one  of  Basil  Woodson's 
letters.  I  recognized  the  handwriting,  and  aftewards 
procured  the  books  of  account  kept  by  him." 

"Ah!"  gasped  Woodley,  growing  pallid  again. 

"  There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  v/ho  wrote  them," 
she  continued;  yet,  lest  there  should  be  any  doubt,  I 
followed  Boaz  Woodley  backward  until  the  date  of  the 
disappearance  of  Basil  Woodson." 

"And  hov/  long,  pray,  have  you  known  all  this.'*" 
asked  Woodley,  bitterly. 

"  I  have  suspected  it  for  a  considerable  time.  I 
have  had  proof  of  it  but  for  a  few  months,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"You  anticipated  trouble  over  the  Trans-Conti- 
nental ?" 

"I  did." 

"Lizzie  Cburr,  you  are  a  wonderful  woman!  I 
never  appreciated  you   or  your  sex  before." 

"  I  love  my  husband,"  she  said,  simply,  while  a  warm 
blush  shot  over  the  pallor  of  her  cheek. 

"  And  now  you  propose — .?" 

"  I  propose,"  said  she,  interrupting  him,  "  to  pay  you 
the  money  which  is  your  due  upon  your  ordering  the 
shares  to  be  transferred  to  me  and  withdrawing  your 
action  against  my  husband." 

"And  if  I  do  that?"  he  asked,  cautiously. 

"  If  you  do  that,  and  do  not  seek  to  injure  Markham 
farther,  the  knowledge  I  have  shall  perish  with  me." 

"But  your  husband.^" 

"He  knows  nothing  of  it." 

"Your  agent  then — your  confidant?" 


IN    THE   LION'S  DEN,  453 

"I  have  had  none." 

"  What !  You  do  not  mean  to  say  you  worked  it  out 
alone?" 

"  No,  but  those  who  worked  under  my  direction 
knew  only  isolated  facts.  I  kept  the  key  in  my  oWn 
hand." 

"Why  did  you  do  that?" 

"Chiefly  out  of  consideration  for  you.  Oh!  Colonel 
Woodley,"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears,  "you  do  not 
know  how  this  horrible  thing  has  distressed  me.  I  have 
striven  not  to  believe  it.  Even  now  I  would  to  God 
it  were  not- true." 

"  Tush,"  said  Woodley,  scornfully,  while  his  brows 
worked  ominously,  "you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you 
have  never  told  anyone  else  what  you  have  told  me 
to-day  ?" 

"Not  a  living  soul  she  answered,  earnestly. 

"  Woman,  you  lie  !"  he  ejaculated. 

"Sir!"  she  cried,  proudly,  "you  knovv^  I  would  not, 
to  save  my  soul !" 

Woodley  watched  her  keenly.  A  look  of  sinister 
triumph  stole  over  his  face. 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  said,  as  he  came  slowly  towards 
her,  "and  I  pity  you,  too." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,''  he  said,  as  he  grasped  her  arm,  "  you 
have  come  to  play  a  desperate  game  with  a  desperate 
man.  You  are  a  brave  woman,  but  you  have  outdone 
yourself." 

"What  will  you  do?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"  He  bent  forward  and  whispered  in  her  ear:     "The 


4^4  ^^C-S  AND    THISTLES. 

secret  which  you  have  learned  is  worth  more  than  the 
little  life  I  have  left.  You  do  not  leave  this  house 
alive  until  I  have  every  scrap  of  evidence  you  possess 
upon  the  subject.     What  do  you  say  to  that.^" 

"You  have  me  in  your  power." 

"  I  should  think  I  had  !  Now,  mark  me,  you  are  a 
brave  woman.  I  have  always  liked  you.  I  admire  you 
now  more  than  ever  before.  You  ought  to  have  been  a 
man,  only  it  would  have  been  a  pity  to  spoil  such  a 
woman.  Now,  listen.  I  do  not  believe  in  your  God, 
or,  if  I  do,  have  nothing  to  hope  for  from  Him.  So 
there  is  no  need  to  take  an  oath,  I  have  no  induce- 
ment "to  lie.     Are  you  listening?" 

^'Yes." 

"Well,  then,  you  will  send  to  have  that  evidence, 
every  scrap  of  it,  brought  here  at  once,  and  you  will 
swear  upon  the  Bible  never  to  utter  one  word  of  what 
you  know,  or — " 

He  stopped. 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Markham  Churr  will  meet  v/ith  a  fatal  acci- 
dent as  she  is  leaving  my  porch,"  hissed  Woodley. 

He  tightened  his  grip  upon  her  arm  as  he  spoke, 
and  glowered  upon  her  in  demoniac  triumph.  She 
shrank  away  from  him  as  far  as  her  arm  would  allow, 
but  it  was  jn  horror  and  disgust,  and  not  from  fear. 

"And  if  I  should  surrender  the  proofs.?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  will  crush  your  husband  all  the  same,"  he  said, 
"but  I  will  spare  you.  You  may  keep  your  money  and 
your  home.     I  will   give  you  a  receipt  in  full,  but  the 


IN   THE   LION'S  DEN.  ^.c 

action   shall   stand,   the  pleadings  shall  remain.     Your 
husband  shall  be  disgraced.     What  do  you  say!" 

"  I  cannot  deliver  the  proofs." 

"Cannot.     You  mean  you  will  not!" 

*'I  cannot." 

"  Why  r 

"Another  has  them." 

"Who!" 

*'My  husband." 

"Your  husband!" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  not  say  he  knew  nothing  of  them?" 

"Yes,  but—" 

"  But  what .?  Have  you  lied  to  me  T"  he  cried,  shak- 
ing her  fiercely.  "You  had  better  never  have  been 
born  than  have  done  that!" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  but  he  could  not  see  a 
particle  of  fear  in  the  great  gray  orbs  he  tried  to  fathom 
with  his  glance.  She  took  out  her  w^atch  and  opened 
it,  then  held  it  up  before  Boaz  W^oodley  with  her  dis- 
engaged right  hand,  and  said,  quietly: 

"  Markham  knows  nothing  of  what  I  have  told  you, 
but  when  the  clock  strikes  one  he  will  know  it  all." 
"How  is  that.?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 
"  Before  he  left  I  gave  him  a  package  containing  a 
full  account  of  what  I  had  learned  and  the  place  of 
deposit  of  the  proofs,  directing  him  to  open  and  read 
then-i  at  one  o'clock  to-day  unless  he  should  receive  a 
certain  message  from  me  in  regard  to  it  before  that 
time,  in  which  case  he  was  to  retain  the  package  un- 
opened for  me." 


456 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


He  looked  at  the  watch.  It  was  then  twenty  min- 
utes of  twelve  o'clock. 

"Devil!"  he  cried,  flinging  her  from  him  with  such 
force  that  she  fell  into  a  chair,  while  he  strode  across 
the  room. 

He  came  back  with  a  strange  look  of  agony  .  upon 
his  face,  and  stood  before  her. 

"'Will  you  send  that  message.^"  he  asked. 

"You  know  the  terms,"  she  answered. 

"And  I  accept  them!" 

"Then  I  will  send  it  at  once." 

*' Yes,  do  not  lose  a  moment." 

"You  will  have  the  necessary  papers  ready  on  my 
return.?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  replied,  as  he  followed  her  to  the  door. 

"I  will  be  back  in  half  an  hour,"  she  cried,  as  she 
ran  down  the  path  towards  the  sleigh  which  awaited 
her,  and  v/as  driven  rapidly  towards  the  telegraph  office. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

THE    OVERSTRAINED    BOW. 

"\T  ^HEN  Lizzie  returned,  she  found  Boaz  Woodley 
V  V  sitting  at  the  table,  with  his  head  resting  v/earily 
upon  his  hands.  .He  seemed  hardly  to  notice  her  en- 
trance at  first.  Then,  handing  her  some  papers,  he 
said  : 

"There  is   a  Ime  to  the  clerk  to  enter  an  order  of 


THE   OVERSTRAINED   BOW.  ^e- 

discontinuance  and  withdrawal  of  the  pleadings.  Here 
is  an  assignment  of  the  stock.  I  don't  want  the  money," 
he  added,  as  she  placed  a  roll  of  bills  before  him.  He 
I)ushed  them  towards  her,  and  they  fell  on  the  floor. 

Lizzie  glanced  quickly  over  the  papers,  and  started 
towards  the  door.  As  she  turned  the  knob,  he  spoke 
her  name.     She  came  back,  and  stood  before  him. 

"  It  is  seldom,"  said  he,  "  that  a  man  has  outdone 
me ;  never  a  woman  until  to-day.  Strangely  enough,  I 
do  not  hate  you.  On  the  contrary,  I  would  give  niore 
for  your  good  opinion  than  that  of  any  other  person  on 
earth.  I  know,"  he  added,  in  answer  to  a  movement 
she  had  made,  "  that  it  is  quite  impossible  that  I  should 
receive  it,  after  what  has  passed  ;  but  there  is  one  thing 
in  regard  to  which  I  wish  to  set  you  right.  1  don't 
wish  to  stand  worse  in  your  thought  than  I  must  neces- 
sarily do.  I  did  not  kill  my  benefactor— at  least,  not 
intentionally  nor  directly.  This  is  how  it  happened 
(and  I  speak  as  truly  as  if  the  v/ords  were  my  last): 
Under  the  temptation  of  the  gaming-table,  I  had  taken 
from  him,  at  first,  small  sums.  Afterward,  as  my  passion 
for  play  increased  its  demands,  I  falsified  the  books, 
and  took  still  larger  sums.  Finally,  in  the  vain  hope 
of  making  up  my  losses,  I  forged  my  employer's  name 
on  bills  of  exchange  forwarded  to  us  by  distant  cus- 
tomers, and  failed  to  enter  them  on  the  books.  My 
conduct  was  suspected  by  him,  and  finally  discovered. 
He  called  me  into  the  counting-room  in  the  after- 
noon, and  reproached  me  with  my  course.  I  acknowl- 
edged ray  fault.  He  did  not  threaten  me  with  punish- 
ment, or  use  any  violent  language.     He   took   his  will 


458  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

from  a  drawer  in  the  desk,  showed  me  that  it  was  drawn 
in  my  favor,  and  then  destroyed  it  before  my  eyes.  He 
said  he  had  loved  me  too  well  to  submit  me  to  exposure 
and  indictment,  but  I  must  leave  his  house,  his  employ, 
and  the  neighborhood  at  once.  After  supper,  he  went 
to  his  counting-room  again,  I  wandered  about  for  a 
time,  and  then  dropped  into  the  store.  I  looked  through 
the  glass  pane  in  the  door  of  the  counting-room,  and 
saw  him  at  his  desk.  I  wanted  to  go  in  and  speak  to 
him,  but  could  not.  I  went  down  into  the  cellar,  and 
drew  myself  a  glass  of  rum.  I  remained  there,  sitting 
alone  in  the  darkness,  until  the  clerks  had  closed  the 
store  and  gone  av/ay.  After  a  time^  I  thought  I  heard 
conversation  in  the  counting-room.  Then  I  heard  some- 
thing like  a  scuffle;  there  was  a  fall,  and  a  cry  for  help. 
I  think  I  must  have  been  asleep  before  this  happened, 
for  I  was  somewhat  confused  in  regard  to  locality.  I 
shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  and  started  for  the 
ladder  which  led  up  into  the  store.  Somehow,  I  could 
not  find  it  for  quite  a  while.  When  I  reached  the 
counting-room  at  length,  the  sperm  candle  was  burning 
quietly  upon  the  desk,  and  my  employer  was  lying  on 
the  floor.  The  stool  on  which  he  had  been  sitting  was 
overturned  and  at  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  room. 
I  bent  over  him,  and  found  him  dead,  with  a  knife  in 
his  heart.  I  drew  it  out,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light. 
It  was  my  own,  which  I  had  left  on  the  desk  in  the 
afternoon.  I  was  so  horrified,  that  it  dropped  from  my 
hands  and  fell  upon  the  floor.  All  at  once,  it  flashed 
upon  me  that  I  would  be  accused  of  the  murder.  All 
the  horrible  circumstances  which  pointed  to  my  guilt 


I'HE    OVERSTRAIXED   BOW.  ^.q 

rushed  through  my  mind  in  an  instant.     I  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  and  irresistible  impulse  to   fly — to  save 
myself.     I  had  not  a  cent  of  money  left.     All   I   had 
stolen  had  gone  to  satisfy  my  greed  for  play.     I  took 
the    key    of    the    money-drawer    from    his    vest-pocket, 
opened  it  with  my  bloody  hand,  transferred  its  contents 
to  my  pocket,  and  fled      I  had  no  idea  where  I  would 
go;  I  only  sought  safety.     The  West  was  the  refuge  of 
— of— criminals  then.     I  thought  I  would  be  sought  for 
there.     So   I   made   my  way  northward,   away   up   into 
Vermont,  close  to  the  Canada  border,  where  I  worked 
for  a  farmer  for  nearly  a  year.     Then  I  became  restless 
and  suspicious.     I  do  not  know  that  I  had  any  grounds 
fo   apprehend    danger,   but   I   was    afraid.     About    this 
time,  the  copy  of  the  paper  you  found  in  my  box  came 
into  my  hands      I  do  not   know  why  I  kept  it,  but  I 
did,  and  always  kept  it  in  that  tin  cash-box,  too.     That 
was  why  I  Avas  so  anxious  to  recover  it.     I  was  afraid 
some  one  might  guess  my  secret.     So  I  came  West  till 
I  reached  the  Reserve,  where  I  stopped,  and  determined 
to  flee  no  further.     I  became  friendly  with  a  young  law- 
yer, and  concluded  to  study  for  the  bar.     I  was  soon 
ready  for  admission.     Not  much  was  required  in  those 
days,  and  1  had  studied  hard.     I  determined  to  make 
a  new   start  under  my   new   name,   be    strictly   honest, 
and   put  my  past  so   far  away  that  none  could  link  it 
with  my  present  life.     From  the  outset  I  have  prospered 
wonderfully,    as    you    know ;    but    I    have    always    been 
afraid.     Though   I   was   not   guilty   of  my   benefactor's 
death  directly,  it  may  be  that  he  put  an  end  to  his  own 
life  on  account  cf  my  bad  conduct.     There  was  no  one 


460 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


else  to  do  it.  The  store  was  closed  and  locked,  and 
when  I  left  the  counting-room  I  had  to  unlock  it  from 
the  inside.  I  heard  of  my  indictment,  and  the  reward 
offered  for  me.  I  dared  not  inquire  farther  about  the 
matter.  I  have  been  afraid  of  this  fearful  thing  from 
that  hour.  I  have  done  a  great  deal  in  the  world  since, 
but  there  has  not  been  a  single  hour  in  which  the 
remembrance  of  that  day  has  not  blasted  all  enjoy- 
ment of  my  subsequent  accomplishments.  Can  you 
believe  this  }  Can  you  believe  that  I  am  not  guilty  of 
blood?" 

"  I  do  believe  you,  and  pity  you  most  sincerely," 
she  answered;  "and  it  maybe  that  I  shall  bring  you 
some  consolation  if  I  say  to  you  that  your  employer 
neither  died  by  your  hand,  nor  yet  by  his  own  on 
account  of  your  acts.  Another  confessed,  years  after- 
ward, the  murder   for  which  you  fled." 

"  Is  that  true  V  demanded  Woodley,  eagerly,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet. 

"It  is." 

"Thank  God!"  cried  the  strong  man,  while  his 
frame  trembled  with  emotion.  "  I  am  free  at  last !  I 
need  not  hide  now.  I  need  not  cower  under  this  name, 
which  I  hate,  though  I  have  made  it  honorable  among 
men  !" 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  "has  thrown  aside  a  burden  which  taxed  his 
strength  to  the  uttermost.  "I  am  free  now!  I  can 
resume  my  own  name  !  I  can  be  a  man  among  men 
again!     Oh,  why  did  I  not  know  of  this  before.^" 

Presently  he  stopped,  sank  into  the  chair  from  which 


THE    OVERSTRAINED   BOW.  461 

he  had  risen,  closed  his  eyes,  and  leaned  his  head  on 
his  clasped  hands.     Then  he  said,  with  a  groan  : 

"No,  no  !  It  cannot  be!  Fifty  years — active  years 
among  busy  men — cannot  be  shaken  off!  I  must  still 
be  Boaz  Woodley !  I  have  made  it  a  name  to  be  proud 
of,  though  it  is  a  badge  of  shame  to  me!  Be  it  honora- 
ble or  shameful  now,  I  cannot  be  rid  of  it.  It  is  my 
shirt  of  Nessus. 

"But  you  will  not  hate  me — you  do  not  hate  me, 
Lizzie,  for  the  way  I  treated  you  to-day.?"  he  asked, 
suddenly  dropping  his  hands  and  looking  up  into  her 
face.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  have  seldom  asked  par- 
don ;  but  I  will  go  upon  my  knees  to  gain  your  for- 
giveness !" 

"  Oh  !  you  were  driven  to  desperation,"  she  said, 
with  a  shudder. 

"But  I  should  have  killed  you,"  he  said,  "  I  know  I 
should,  if  it  would  have  accomplished  my  purpose." 

"  Then  let  us  thank  God  that  you  did  not,"  she  said ; 
and,  moved  by  some  sudden  impulse  of  prayer,  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  old  man's  chair, 
and  poured  forth  a  flood  of  hysterical  tears  and  sobs, 
and  half-audible  supplications.  -  Strangely  enough,  she 
gave  no  thanks  for  her  own  deliverance,  but  only  spoke 
her  gratitude  for  the  watchfulness  which  had  kept  him 
from  crime.  As  she  knelt,  with  her  head  bowed  upon 
the  side  of  his  chair,  he  pushed  her  soft  brown  hair  from 
her  temples  and  gazed  half-wonderingly  upon  her.  After 
a  time  he  said,  with  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face  : 

"  I  do  not  understand  it  !" 

"Understand  what.?" 


462 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


■*  How  you  can  forgive." 

"  Because — because — I  think  I  could  forgive  one 
anything  who  has  done  so  much  for  my  Markham,"  she 
answered. 

"  But  I  hate  him  now — that  is,  I  shall  after  this." 

"That  cannot  remove  our   gratitude   for  the   past." 

"What  made  him  do  so?"  he  said,  petulantly. 

"  Can  you  not  forgive  him  V 

"  Forgive  whom  V 

"Markham." 

"  But  he  should  forgive  me.'* 

"He  has." 

"And  does  not  hate  me.?" 

"  No." 

"But  he  might  have  ruined  me!" 

"Forgive  him." 

"  I — I — 1 — don't  know  how,"  said  the  old  man,  grop- 
ingly. He  seemed  to  have  become  all  at  once  weak 
and  aged. 

"Colonel  Woodley." 

"Yes,"  absently. 

"  Will  you  grant  me  one  request  V 

"  I  suppose,"  he  answered,  listlessly,  "you  can  make 
me  do  whatever  you  choose  now.  I  am  your  slave,  and 
must  obey  whether  I  wish  to  or  not." 

"  Call  me  daughter  once  more,"  said  Lizzie,  with 
quivering  lip. 

"  You  do  not  mean  it  V 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  and  she  pressed  her  pure,  soft  lips 
to  his  forehead. 

"  Oh !    my    daughter,"   he    cried,  as   he   caught   her 


THE   OVERSTRAINED   BOW.  ^(^^ 

head  between  his  hands  and  returned  her  kiss,  while 
the  tears  flowed  over  his  cheeks. 

Lizzie  sprang  away  with  a  Ught  laugh,  and  with 
glowing  cheeks  and  dancing  eyes  fled  out  of  the  door 
with  a  cheery  "  Good-bye,""  She  thought  the  sunshine 
the  brightest  she  had  ever  seen  as  she  went  back  to  her 
own  home.  Then  she  gave  the  papers  she  had  received 
to  Frank  Horton,  who  with  his  wife  had  been  detained 
by  the  death  of  the  good  old  pastor,  and  was  still  at  the 
house.  He  examined  them,  and  then  went  out  to  com- 
plete the  task  and  telegraph  to  Markham  of  Lizzie's 
final  and  entire  success. 

The  brave  little  woman  then  sought  her  couch  and 
slept.  It  was  needed  aftet  what  she  had  passed  through 
that  day,  and  as  a  preparation  for  w^hat  still  awaited 
her.  She  felt  that  she  had  saved  her  husband  from 
disaster  and  reconciled  him  to  the  friend  to  whom 
they  owed  so  much  of  love  and  duty. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  servant  came  to  awaken 
her  and  say  that  Mrs.  Hoyt,  who  kept  the  house  of 
Boaz  Woodley,  wished  her  to  come  over  at  once,  as 
Colonel  Woodley  seemed  "queer-like."  Hastily  dress- 
ing, she  repaired  to  the  house  of  the  President  of  the 
Trans-Continental.  As  she  crossed  the  street,  a  tele- 
graph boy  brought  her  this  message  : 

"  Spoke  and  voted  against  the  bill ;  but  it  passed  by 
a  considerable  majority." 

Entering  the  room,  she  found  that  the  great  head 
had  lost  its  kingly  poise  and  was  fallen  upon  one  side. 
The  eyes  whose  gaze  few  could  endure  looked  at  her 
with   a  listless,  stony  stare.     The   very  lids   refused   to 


464  P^G^  ^^'^    THISTLES. 

close  over  their  glassy  surfaces.  The  ears  were  deaf 
to  her  beseeching.  The  iimbs  were  powerless  to  sustain 
the  massive  form ;  and  the  hand,  which  but  that  morn- 
ing had  bruised  her  arm  with  its  fierce  grasp  hung,  cold 
and  heavy  by  his  side.  Physicians  were  called,  and 
remedies  applied;  but  ail  in  vain.  That  stealthy  death- 
in-life,  fell  apoplexy,  had  throv/n  its  mysterious  spell 
over  the  body  and  mind  of  Boaz  Woodley. 


CHAPTER    LI  I, 

THE    PATH    OF    DUTY. 

LIZZIE  took  her  place  at  the  bedside  of  the  stricken 
man,  as  if  the  name  by  which  he  had  last  called 
her  had  bound  her  to  render  filial  service.  Her  hus- 
band soon  joined  her,  and  united  in  attention  to  the 
strange  man  to  whom  they  owed  so  much  of  good,  and 
by  whom  so  much  of  evil  had  been  planned  against 
them.  But  they  did  not  think  of  this;  indeed,  Mark- 
ham  did  not  knovv^  the  worst  of  it  until  long  afterwards. 
The  condition  of  Boaz  Woodley 's  financial  affairs, 
and  the  magnitude  of  his  interests,  were  such  that  it 
became  necessary  that  some  one  should  be  speedily 
authorized  to  act  for  him.  Who  it  should  be  was  a 
question  to  which  there  could  be  but  one  answer. 
Woodley  had  no  relatives.  He  was  known  to  have  de- 
clared that  he  intended  to  make  Markham  his  executor, 
and  perhaps  his  chief  legatee.     A  few  had  been  aware 


THE   PATH  OF  DUTY. 


465 


that  there  had  been  some  difference  between  them  of 
late,  but  that  was  supposed  to  have  been  settled;  and 
the  Probate  Judge,  having  first  satisfied  himself,  by 
medical  testimony,  of  the  fact  that  Boaz  Woodley  was 
incompetent  to  manage  and  control  his  estate  by  reason 
of  mental  incapacity,  appointed  Markham  Churr  to  ad- 
minister the  same,  under  direction  of  the  Court. 

So  Markham  Churr  and  his  wife  found  a  duty  of 
indeterminate  duration  •  cast  upon  them,  which  they 
could  by  no  means  avoid.  There  was  no  reasonable 
hope  of  Colonel  Woodley 's  recovery.  It  was  true  that 
he  had  rallied  somewhat  from  the  total  prostration 
which  had  seized  him  at  first.  He  had  come  to  mani- 
fest a  dull  consciousness  of  life.  He  ate  and  drank  in 
a  sort  of  apathetic  v/ay,  as  if  his  doing  so  were  more 
the  result  of  physical  habit  than  otherwise.  He  did 
not  speak  or  try  to  speak.  Sometimes  he  seemed  to 
know  that  he  was  addressed,  and  for  brief  intervals  his 
eyes  would  seem  to  have  the  light  of  intelligence  in 
them.  But  it  was  hard  to  determine  whether  this  were 
fact  or  delusion.     He  lay  motionless,  unimpressionable. 

Lizzie  persisted  that  he  could  both  hear  and  under- 
stand to  a  certain  degree  w^hat  was  said  ta  him ;  but 
others  thought  that  her  ardent  wish  alone  was  father  to 
the  thought.  She  herself  half- doubted  it,  but  she  v/as 
determined  not  to  fail  in  her  duty  on  that  account.  She 
gave  up  her  pleasure,  and  mad^  his  care  the  business  of 
her  life.  She  read  to  him,  generally  from  the  Bible, 
slowly  and  distinctly,  that  the  dull  ears  might  perchance 
catch  some  word  of  life.  Sometimes  she  read  the 
newspapers,  thinking  that  the  prisoned  soul  might  yearn 


466  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

to  know  something  of  the  world  from  which  it  was  shut 
out,  but  which  it  could  not  leave.  She  treated  him 
always  as  if  he  could  both  see  and  hear,  neglecting  no 
opportunity  to  give  him  pleasure  or  guard  him  from 
annoyance  or  pain.  Frank  Horton  had  purchased  the 
house  of  Lizzie,  after  vainly  endeavoring  to  persuade 
her  to  accept  a  loan  from  him  to  enable  her  to  meet 
Woodley's  demand,  and,  he  and  Amy  being  desirous 
since  his  settlement  in  Lanesville  of  establishing  them- 
selves in  their  new  home  in  the  early  spring,  the 
household  of  Markham  Churr  was  transferred  to  the 
home  of  Boaz  Woodley,  and  the  disinherited /r*?/^'^/ en- 
tered as  a  matter  of  friendly  and  filial  duty  into  the 
full  possession  and  occupancy  of  the  vast  estate  which 
he  had  refused  to  receive  as  the  price  even  of  silence 
when  tainted  with  dishonor. 

It  was  at  first  generally  supposed  that  he  was  still 
the  heir,  but  he  voluntarily  came  forward  and  declared 
that,  while  there  had  been  a  vrill  in  his  favor,  he  had 
seen  it  destroyed  but  a  few  days  previous  to  the  apo- 
plectic stroke,  and  he  had  no  idea  that  another  had 
been  executed — certainly  not  in  his  favor. 

Under  this  state  of  facts,  it  vv'as  still  more  apparent 
to  the  Court  that  l^.Iarkham  Churr  was  the  most  suitable 
person  to  take  charge  of  the  estate.  The  mental  in- 
capacity of  Colonel  Woodley  having  been  duly  certified 
to  by  a  jury  of  inque<?t  for  that  purpose  impanelled. 
General  Churr  was  therefore  appointed  to  control  and 
administer  the  estate  during  the  continuance  of  said 
incapacity,  according  to  his  best  skill  and  judgment, 
and  under  the  control  of  the  Court. 


THE   PATH   OF  DUTY. 


467 


In  entering  upon  the  discharge  of  this  trust,  Mark- 
ham  deemed  it  advisable  first  to  look  into  the  relations 
of  the  estate  to  the  Trans-Continental  Railway  Com- 
pany. His  late  investigations  had  led  him  to  doubt 
very  seriously  the  future  success  of  that  scheme,  and 
he  feared  to  find  that  Woodley's  confidence  in  it  had 
caused  him  to  adventure  to  an  extent  which  would 
make  it  almost  as  hazardous  to  withdraw  as  to  proceed. 
Knowing  the  old  man's  habit  of  carefully  noting  every 
matter  of  importance,  he  began  first  to  study  all  the 
memoranda  he  could  find  upon  the  subject.  He  soon 
learned  the  amount  of  Woodley's  interest  in  the  road, 
and  the  nature  of  the  directions  which  had  been  given 
to  his  brokers  in  regard  to  the  sale  of  the  stocks.  He 
also  found  an  agreement  between  his  ward  and  certain 
other  parties  who  were  to  constitute  the  great  Railway 
Construction  Syndicate  of  America,  dated  before  the 
incorporation  of  that  company,  and  agreeing  to  take  a 
certain  number  of  shares  therein  at  a  certain  price  per 
share.  The  conditions  were  in  all  respects  identical 
with  the  charter  which  had  since  been  granted,  and  in 
accordance  with  which  the  Syndicate  had  organized 
since  Woodley's*  prostration.  Hardly  had  he  learned 
these  facts,  when  there  came  almost  simultaneously  ac- 
counts of  the  sales  from  the  various  brokers,  and  a 
demand  from  the  Syndicate  for  a  compliance  with  the 
terms  of  the  contract. 

Upon  comparing  and  combining  the  accounts  of 
sales  of  Trans-Continental  stock  and  the  purchase  of 
other  stocks  directed  to  be  made  at  the  same  time, 
Markham  v/as  amazed  at  the  sagacity  displayed  in  al- 


468  P^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

most  the  last  financial  act  of  the  now  hopeless  paralytic. 
He  had  judged  rightly  that  the  passage  of  the  bill  and 
the  subsequent  efforts  of  the  new  Syndicate  would  for 
a  time  enhance  the  stock  of  the  Trans-Continental.  As 
a  result  of  this,  the  different  brokers  had  sold,  on  the 
account  of  Woodley,  several  thousand  more  shares  of 
stock  than  he  had  held,  at  a  figure  which  not  only  saved 
the  estate  from  loss,  but  represented  a  considerable 
profit  on  the  outlay,  if  the  excess  could  only  be  pro- 
vided for.  He  at  once  telegraphed  for  the  transfer  of 
all  the  stock  standing  in  the  name  of  Woodley  to  the 
purchasers,  and  then  informed  the  President  of  the  Syn- 
dicate that,  unless  the  estate  was  formally  released  from 
the  agreement  made  with  the  Syndicate,  and  the  brok- 
ers' contracts  for  sales  of  shares  (in  excess  of  what  the 
estate  held)  taken  off  his  hands  and  filled  by  the  Syn- 
dicate, he  must  allow  it  to  be  made  known  that  Boaz 
Woodley,  late  President  of  that  Company,  had  sold  out 
every  share  of  his  stock  in  the  Trans-Continental  Rail- 
Avay  Company;  that  he  was  compelled  to  this  course 
because  he  had  no  other  means  of  filling  t'ne  sales-con- 
tracts, and,  as  trustee  for  the  estate,  he  felt  it  very  de- 
sirable that,  in  Colonel  Woodley's  prese?it  condition,  the 
contract  with  the  Syndicate  should  be  annulled. 

Now,  none  knew  better  than  the  managers  of  the 
Syndicate  that  the  standing  of  the  Trans-Continental 
as  a  stock  was  largely  due  to  the  connection  of  Boaz 
Woodley  with  the  company.  Not  only  had  he  been 
regarded  as  a  most  capable  financier,  but  his  practical 
knowledge  of  railroads  was  known  to  be  very  great,  and 
besides  all  that,  he  was  universally  regarded  as  one  of 


THE  PATH  OF  DUTY.  469 

those  kings  of  fortune  who  commanded  good  luck  in 
whatever  he  undertook.  A  public  announcement  that 
he  had  sold  would  seriously  depress  the  Trans-Continen- 
tal stock,  and  the  buoyancy  of  that  stock  was,  for  the 
present,  of  the  utmost  importance  to  the  Construction 
Syndicate.  The  Executive  Committee  of  that  corpora- 
tion therefore  closed  with  General  Churr's  offer  without 
discussion,  and  in  a  few  days  the  estate  of  Boaz  Woodley 
\vas  clear  of  all  relations  with  the  Trans-Continental. 

Markham  felt  that  he  had  delivered  the  estate  from 
great  peril,  and  began  to  breathe  more  freely ;  nor  was 
his  contentment  at  all  lessened  at  discovering  that  by 
this  operation,  into  which  he  had  been  forced,  he  him- 
self had  realized  upon  the  stock  purchased  for  him  by 
Woodley  considerably  more  than  had  been  paid  for  it. 
He  now  devoted  himself  entirely  to  consolidating  the 
estate,  making  no  new  ventures,  and  realizing  as  rapidly 
as  possible  from  all  investments  which  he  considered 
doubtful.  He  considered  this  to  be  .his  duty,  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  he  might  at  any  moment  be  called  upon  to 
turn  it  over  to  the  heirs  of  his  ward,  whose  death,  was 
likely  to  occur  at  an  early  day. 

Little  did  he  dream  of  what  awaited  him.  The 
Railway  Construction  Syndicate  of  America  vras  his 
enemy,  and  he  was  doomed  to  feel  its  power. 


CHAPTER    LIU. 

THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS. 

I'^HE  time  for  the  biennial  convention  to  nominate 
a  Congressional  candidate  for  the  ;/th  District 
drew  near.  Markham  had  become  so  deeply  engaged 
in  a  duty  which  he  considered  paramount  to  all  others 
that  he  had  determined,  upon  the  meeting  of  the  con- 
vention, to  withdraw  his  name  from  further  consider- 
ation. He  had  not  as  yet  made  this  intention  public, 
but  there  was  more  than  a  month  to  elapse  before  the 
convention,  and  there  seemed  no  sign  of  opposition. 

Not  that  his  course  in  Congress  had  been  in  all 
things  satisfactory  to  all  his  constituents.  That  would 
have  been  impossible.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  a 
considerable  number  of  men,  each  one  of  whom  v\-ould 
never  feel  exactly  satisfied  while  any  other  person  than 
himself  occupied  the  place,  and  each  one  of  these  had 
a  considerable  number  of  friends  and  foliovrers  Vvho 
expected  place  and  preference  when  their  particular 
friend  and  champion  should  represent  the  District. 
These  were  all  opposed  to  him.  Then  there  were  a 
good  many  disappointed  aspirants  for  Post-ofiices,  and 
Collectorships,  and  Consulates,  and  all  the  various  forms 
of  Federal  patronage  and  political  plunder.  These  also 
were  opposed  to  the  incumbent. 

Then,  too,  there  was   the   due   proportion   of  those 
470 


THE    CROWN  OF    THORNS. 


471 


chronic  grumblers  who  infest  the  political  world.  First, 
the  Temperance  Reformers,  who  had  learned  with  sor- 
row that  the  Honorable  Markham  Churr,  of  the  ;^th  Dis- 
trict, had  refused  to  introduce  and  advocate  a  bill 
providing  that  every  one  who  should  drink  ardent 
spirits,  wine,  or  any  fermented  or  malt  liquors,  except 
by  prescription  of  a  physician,  should  be  adjudged  a 
lunatic,  and  have  a  guardian  appointed  for  his  person 
and  estate  forthwith.  Then,  there  was  the  Woman's 
Rights  and  Female  Emancipation  Society,  which  had 
sent  him  numerous  petitions  and  had  waited  upon  his 
wife  to  prevail  upon  her  to  take  part  in  their  plan  of 
human  redemption  by  adopting  the  costume  of  the  Re- 
formed and  Emancipated  Female.  They  reported  find- 
ing her  tricked  out  in  all  the  abominations  of  modern 
fashion;  that,  after  listening  to  their  address,  she 
smilingly  told  them  that  they  must  excuse  her,  but 
really,  from  the  examples  she  had  seen,  she  did  not 
think  the  Reformed  costume  either  becoming  or  de- 
sirable. For  herself,  she  frankly  confessed  she  liked 
pretty  things,  and  did  not  intend  to  discard  them. 

Besides  these,  were  the  usual  number  of  objections 
to  his  course.  Some  thought  he  had  not  been  Radical 
enough ;  others  that  he  had  been  too  extreme.  Some 
insisted  that  he  should  have  supported  Thad  Stevens's 
plan  of  reconstruction  instead  of  Mr.  Sherman's;  while 
there  were  not  lacking  those  who  thought  that  neither 
one  contained  the  elements  of  severity  and  retribution 
which  prudence  and  justice  demanded.     And  so  on. 

In  addition  to  this,  Markham  Churr  was  a  political 
upstart.     Neither   he    nor   his   backer,    Boaz   Woodley, 


472 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


belonged  to  the  tribe  of  political  Levites  who  were  of 
right  entitled  to  minister  at  the  altars  of  State.  It  is 
true  that  the  principle  of  hereditary  rights  is  thoroughly 
exploded  in  theory  in  our  Republic,  but  in  practice  it 
is  different.  Who  cannot  point  to  families  which  claim 
office  and  place  as  of  divine  right,  and  hold  it  gener- 
ation after  generation.  There  is  not  a  State  which  has" 
not  its  dynasties  of  the  one  party  or  the  other,  and 
every  new  man  who  aspires  to  popular  favor  or  public 
service,  unless  he  bends  to  their  caprice  and  becomes 
their  instrument,  is  looked  upon  as  an  outsider. 

So  that,  while  there  had  been  no  organized  oppo- 
sition to  Churr,  since  his  first  enthusiastic  nomination,  the 
elements  of  discontent  were  at  hand.  If  they  could  be 
united  against  him,  or  in  favor  of  another,  it  would  be 
possible  to  unseat  him  even  if  he  desired  to  be  returned. 

One  day,  in  looking  over  the  Republican  papers  of 
his  District  as  usual,  he  was  surprised  to  find  in  each 
one  of  them  a  somewhat  disparaging  allusion  to  him- 
self. It  was  not  much,  and  nothing  definite.  Some  of 
them  seemed  to  hint  at  possible  disclosures  and  others 
expressed  only  vague  dissatisfaction.  They  were  not 
at  all  alike  in  thought  or  style.  One  was  only  a  squib 
of  two  lines,  another  a  stickful,  and  yet  another  reached 
to  half  a  column.  None  of  them  said  anything  bad 
about  him,  but  then  they  studiously  avoided  saying  any- 
thing good.  It  annoyed  him.  It  was  a  strange  and 
disagreeable  coincidence.  Others  noticed  it  too.  The 
next  day,  the  village  paper — his  own  peculiar  organ — 
took  up  his  cause,  and  gave  an  eloquent  vindication  of 
his  course.     This  seemed  to  be  the  spark  in  the  maga- 


THE    CROWN  OF   THORNS. 


473 


zine.  Instantly,  the  press  of  the  District  was  ablaze 
with  the  most  infamous  and  disgraceful  insinuations. 

At  first  he  could  not  understand  it.  When  the 
source  of  its  virulence  became  finally  apparent  to  his 
mind,  he  had  no  proof  to  sustain  his  suspicion  and 
could  make  no  use  of  it  for  attack  or  defence.  No'-hing 
could  have  been  more  skilfully  planned  than  this  as- 
sault. The  Clarion  Bugle,  which  began  it,  inquired : 
"  Whether  it  was  not  about  time  that  the  frenzy  of  the 
war  should  cease  to  control  nominations.  The  fact  that 
a  man  had  been  a  good  soldier  did  not  argue  prima 
facie  that  he  had  any  peculiar  qualifications  for  civic 
office,  but  rather  the  reverse.  The  present  incumbent 
had  no  doubt  been  an  excellent  soldier,  and  had  mani- 
fested considerable  zeal  in  his  present  posifion,  but  it 
seemed  as  if  the  exigencies  of  the  time  demanded  from 
the  voters  of  the  ;zth  District  a  Representative  of  ex- 
perience, maturity  and  character." 

The  Beaver  Express  followed,  admitting,  as  it  stated, 
"the  extraordinary  ability  which  General  Churr  had 
shown,  both  as  an  officer  and  a  parliamentary  leader, 
and  the  exceptional  success  with  which  he  had  advo- 
cated many  most  important  measures;  yet  there  was 
something  more  important  to  the  voters  of  the  ;zth  Dis- 
trict than  the  mere  ability  of  its  Representative.  What 
that  was,  it  would  leave  for  them  to  determine." 

The  Mesopotamia  Oivl,  the  chronic  jester  of  the  Dis- 
trict press,  declared  it  to  be  "one  of  the  things  that 
nobody  knows,  you  know:  How  General  Churr  came  to 
be  nominated  for  the Congress." 

The    Turnbull    Herald  regretted  "     *     *     *     that 


474  r  ^^^-^  ^-"^-D    THISTLES. 

the  sudden  acquisition  of  wealth  by  the  present  very 
able  Representative  of  the  District,  whose  course  it  had 
in  the  main  very  gladly  sustained,  gave  something  of 
color  to  the  injurious  aspersions  afloat  in  regard  to  the 
use  he  had  made  of  his  position  as  a  legislator." 

The  Kuka  Beacon  averred  that  "  the  spectacle  of  a 
young  man  utterly  without  means  at  the  time  of  his 
admission  to  the  bar,  of  unknown  parentage  and  ob- 
scure antecedents,  becoming  in  a  few  years  a  man  of 
wealth,  a  member  of  Congress,  the  owner  of  a  splendid 
establishment,  and  noted  for  the  style  in  which  he  lived 
even  in  Washington,  without  ever  having  had  a  case  in 
any  court,  or  any  other  apparent  me:ins  of  acquiring  a 
competency  beyond  his  pay  as  an  army  offlcer  and  a 
Congressman,  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  instances 
of  successful  economy  which  even  our  land  of  marvel- 
ous opportunities  had  yet  produced." 

Then  the  fire  began  to  spread,  and  the  Reflector., 
published  at  the  State  capital,  noticed  the  matter  thus : 
"The  papers  of  the  7/th  District  are  beginning  to  inquire 
how  their  Representative  came  by  the  vast  sums  of  money 
which  he  has  expended  and  the  property  he  has  ac- 
quired in  the  last  few  years.  It  is  stated  that  he  was 
utterly  without  property  in  1861,  and  has  never  been 
known  to  have  any  other  means  of  support  than  his 
pay  as  a  soldier  and  an  officer  and  a  member  of  Con- 
gress. He  is  said  now  to  have  one  of  the  finest  resi- 
dences and  the  very  finest  turnout  in  his  District,  and 
is  known  to  have  lived  in  Washington  in  a  style  which 
very  few  could  afford".  It  is  time  that  public  servants 
were  called  to  account,  and  General  CJiurr  had  better 


THE    CROWN  OF   THORNS.  47^ 

*nse  and  explain,' and  that  quickly,  or  when  the  con- 
vention meets  he  will  not  be  heard  of." 

For  a  week  or  two,  the  newspapers,  not  only  of  his 
State  and  District,  teemed  with  these  vague  intimations, 
which  it  was  equally  dangerous  to  notice  or  neglect.  It 
is  wonderful  how  soon  a  man's  friends,  or  those  who 
call  themselves  friends,  can  drop  away  from  him.  Be- 
fore this  fusilade  began,  Markham  thought  himself,  and 
in  truth  was,  the  most  popular  man' in  his  District.  His 
straightforward,  manly  course,  together  with  his  evident 
desire  to  do  credit  to  his  constituents  in  all  respects, 
had  won  the  favor  and  regard  both  of  his  political  sup- 
porters and  opponents.  The  breath  of  calumny  changed 
all  this  as  if  by  magic.  His  townspeople  and  neighbors 
began  to  regard  him  with  coolness.  When  he  went 
upon  the  streets,  he  noticed  curious  glances  and  half- 
concealed  sneers  directed  towards  him.  He  could  put 
his  hand  upon  his  heart  and  honestly  declare  that  he 
was  guilty  of  no  wrong.  He  could  not  remember  one 
dishonorable  act  of  his  life.  No  falsehood  had  ever 
crossed  his  lips.  Towards  man  and  woman  his  life  had 
been  upright  and  sincere.  Yet  he  could  not  help  man- 
ifesting his  annoyance  at  this  attack.  The  suspicion 
of  his  neighbors  cut  him  most  deeply.  A  few  friends 
stood  by  him,  but  they  seemed  to  be  powerless  to  stem 
the  tide  of  detraction  which  was  flowing  in  upon  him. 
One  friend  he  had  who  was  not  content  to  believe  in 
his  uprightness,  but  strove  to  demonstrate  it  to  others — 
the  Rev.  Frank  W.  Horton.  But  this  was  looked  upon 
as  the  mere  partiality  of  friendship. 

Among   the  curious   evidences   of   his   depreciated 


476  PIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

character  was  the  fact  that  a  class  of  men  whom  he 
had  never  associated  with  began  to  greet  him  familiarly. 
Men  of  damaged  reputation,  who  lived  by  fraud  and 
chicanery — moral  "dead-beats" — claimed  his  acquaint- 
ance, with  a  sort  of  glee.  The  misery  which  "loves 
company"  reached  out  its  hand  to  him,  and  clapped 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

But  he  had  not  yet  drained  the  cup  of  bitterness  to 
the  dregs.  The  next  blow  was  given  in  one  of  the  great 
New  York  dailies,  and  was  copied  in  every  paper  in 
the  District — almost  every  paper  in  the  country  : 

"A  Washington  Rumor. 

"  It  is  currently  reported  in  Washington  that  a  cer- 
tain member  of  Congress,  whose  name  we  do  not  give, 
though  it  is  freely  repeated  there,  who  was  a  special 
protege  of  one  of  the  largest  stockholders  of  the  Trans- 
Continental  Railway  Co.,  had  been  given  by  his  patron 
a  certain  number  of  shares  of  stock  in  the  road  about 
the  time  of  the  first  organization  of  the  company.  It 
was  entirely  a  personal  gift  to  the  young  man,  to  whom 
he  was  greatly  attached,  and  whom  he  intended  to  make 
his  heir.  Unfortunately,  the  ^I.  C.  considered  it  as  in- 
tended to  secure  his  support  for  the  road,  and  when  a 
bill  came  up  for  an  amendment  of  the  charter  and  ex- 
tending the  privileges  of  the  corporation,  he  demanded 
a  farther  bonus  in  consideration  of  his  service  in  helping 
to  secure  its  passage.  Upon  this  being  made  known  to 
the  officers  of  the  company,  it  was  met  by  a  prompt 
refusal.  Thereupon  the  young  Congressman  threatened 
to  oppose  the  bill  and  defeat  its  passage.     His  patron 


THE   CROWN   OF    THORXS.  477 

(who  is  reported,  by  the  way,  to  sustain  also  a  much 
closer  relation  toward  him)  remonstrated  with  him,  and 
.  offered  to  give  him  his  entire  interest  in  the  road  if  he 
would  not  persist  in  his  foolish  demand.  It  was  in  vain, 
however.  The  M.  C.  declared  that  he  did  not  want 
his  patron's  stock,  probably  thinking  himself  sure  of  it 
at  no  distant  day,  but  a  bonus  from  the  company  for  his 
service,  and  this  he  would  have  or  he  would  oppose 
the  bill.  Disgusted  and  chagrined  at  his  conduct,  the 
patron  left  the  city  before  the  vote  upon  the  bill,  and 
had  barely  reached  home  when  the  shame  and  excite- 
menr  which  he  had  undergone  produced  apoplexy,  and 
he  now  is  a  hopeless  and  unconscious  paralytic.  The 
M.  C.  remained  and  fulfilled  his  threat.  He  was  the 
only  member ^ko  spoke  against  the  bill.  When  he  had 
concluded  an  angry  and  senseless  fanfaronade  of  about 
an  hour,  to  the  surprise  and  disgust  of  all  who  heard 
him,  the  vote  was  taken,  and  was  overwhelmingly  in 
favor  of  the  bill.  Several  said  they  voted  for  it  pur- 
posely to  rebuke  his  treachery  and  folly.  If  he  had 
succeeded  in  defeating  the  bill  it  would  have  utterly 
ruined  his  patron,  whose  estate  we  understand  he  now 
controls  and  will  probably  soon  enjoy.  It  is  looked 
upon  by  all  as  the  most  desperate  piece  of  political 
buccaneering  ever  attempted  in  Congress." 

Another  struck  a  still  tenderer  chord  by  openly  pro- 
claiming : 

"We  never  heard  of  the  name  of  Churr  until  the 
affair  of  the  Aychitula  Bank,  at  which  time  Boaz  Wood- 
ley  dug  up  the  present  Representative  and  made  him  a 
sort  of  detective.     We  believe  the  man  who  committed 


478 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


the  robbery  is  now  his  closest  friend,  and  almost  his 
only  defender.  The  name  '  Churr  '  is  a  queer  one,  and 
would  seem  to  give  color  to  the  rumor  now  afloat  in 
regard  to  the  relation  which  this  unknown  youth  actually 
sustained  to  his  apparent  patron." 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  few  days,  but  Markham 
saw  that  the  poison  was  acting.  Then  came  another  at- 
tack.    It  was  suggested  that : 

*'The  heirs  of  Colonel  Vv^oodley  should  look  after 
their  interests.  It  is  not  probable  that  the  Colonel  will 
ever  again  be  able  to  manage  his  estate,  and  the  power 
of  transformation  which  the  present  trustee  has  already 
exhibited  should  put  them  on  their  guard." 

The  sale  of  the  bonds  of  the  Trans-Continental  af- 
forded subject-matter  for  still  another:  '^The  first  act 
of  the  trustee  of  Colonel  Woodley's  estate,  as  we  are 
informed,  was  to  sell  out  all  the  shares  held  by  him  in 
the  Trans-Continental.  He  probably  did  this  for  the 
purpose  of  injuring  the  road,  whose  officers  had  refused 
to  accede  to  his  terms  when  the  bill  for  the  new  charter 
was  pending.  The  continued  advance  of  that  stock  has 
shown  not  only  the  folly  of  his  act  in  that  view,  but  his 
incapacity  as  a  financier.  Since  the  sale,  the  stock  has 
advanced  nearly  seven  per  cent.,  which  upon  eight 
thousand  shares  would  be  quite  an  appreciable  gain  to 
even  the  vast  estate  of  Colonel  Woodley." 

Upon  the  publication  of  this,  the  newspaper  in  his 
ovrn  village,  which  had  heretofore  staunchly  maintained 
his  cause,  showed  signs  of  falling  off.  It  stated  that : 
"While  it  could  not  be  doubted  that  General  Churr,  on 
account  of  his  intimate  relations  with  Colonel  Woodley, 


THE    CROWN   OF    THORXS.  479 

was  by  far  the  fittest  man  in  the  community  to  have 
charge  of  his  estate,  yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  if  the 
facts  in  regard  to  the  sale  of  the  Trans-Continental  stock 
were  as  reported  it  would  seem  that  he  had  made  a 
serious  blunder  and  give  some  color  to  the  rumors  in 
circulation  against  him." 

This  publication  was  made  by  the  editor  without 
consultation  with  Markham.  His  last  public  ally  had 
fallen  away  from  him. 

The  time  for  the  convention  approached,  and  the 
current  of  feeling  against  him  had  only  grown  deeper 
and  stronger.  There  was  a  fierce  fight  between  rival 
candidates  for  his  place,  but  no  one  mentioned  his  name 
in  connection  with  it.  He  seemed  to  have  become  in 
the  political  world  what  Boaz  Woodley  was  in  the 
world  of  matter,  a  helpless  paralytic.  He  was  not  dead. 
Everyone  still  recognized  his  existence,  sometimes  acted 
upon  it  for  his  torture;  but,  so  far  as  influence  or  power 
was  concerned,  he  might  as  well  not  have  been  alive. 
His  influence  was  neither  desired  nor  feared  by  any- 
one. He  was  the  man  who  had  been  ;  the  dead  lion 
whom  the  live  dogs  did  not  respect. 

An  action  was  brought  against  him  to  secure  his 
removal  as  trustee  by  one  who  pretended  to  be  an  heir 
of  the  paralytic,  and  to  be  fearful  that  the  trustee  vvould 
squander  the  estate.  Almost  simultaneously  with  this 
came  an  order  from  the  Probate  Judge  directing  him  to 
appear  and  give  bond  in  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  with  good  security,  J"or  the  faithful 
discharge  of  his  trust  as  guardian  of  the  estate  of  Bcaz 
Woodley,  recently  adjudged  to  be  non  compos  tnentis. 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

■      A     DEBT     OF     HONOR. 

MARKHAM  had  borne  all  that  had  hitherto  befal- 
len him  with  a  sort  of  dogged  amazement.  He 
could  not  believe  it  possible  that  he  had  been  hurled  in 
one  moment  from  the  summit  of  popularity  to  the 
depths  of  infamy,  without  fault  and  without  error. 
Some  of  the  charges  were  too  foolish  to  be  contro- 
verted; others  were  of  such  a  character  that  no  amount 
•  of  refutation  could  diminish  their  effect.  He  saw  that 
the  Trans-Continental  Railway  Company,  or,  rather,  the 
Construction  Syndicate,  who  were  to  profit  by  its  ex- 
istence, were  taking  their  revenge  upon  him  for  oj)- 
posing  the  charter,  and,  as  they  no  doubt  supposed, 
v/ithdrawing  the  estate  of  Boaz  Woodley  from  its  com- 
plications. It  had  resolved  upon  his  ruin,  and  had 
initiated  the  crusade  against  him  with  the  utmost  skill. 
This  gave  him  the  key  at  once  of  the  simultaneous 
attack  upon  him  by  the  entire  press.  The  Construction 
Syndicate  had  found  means  to  control  every  newspaper 
they  desired,  in  order  to  excite  a  popular  prejudice 
against  him.  Fearing  that  he  might  turn  upon  them 
W'ith  the  whole  power  of  the  vast  estate  which  he  held 
in  trust,  they  had  now  brought  forward  this  pretended 
heir  of  Boaz  Woodley,  and  had  compelled  the  Judge  of 

Probate   to  requirj  Markham  to  give  a  bond,  in  order 
480 


A    DEBT   OF  HOXOR. 


481 


that  they  might  be  able  to  check,  by  legal  means,  the 
impulse  of  self-protection  on  his  part.  He  recognized 
the  necessity  for  immediate  action  upon  his  part,  though 
he  could  not  determine  upon  any  clear  line  of  conduct. 
He  was  inclined  to  resign  the  control  of  the  estate,  but  if 
he  did  so,  he  might  have  to  relinquish  also  the  care  of  the 
invalid.  The  stricken  man  had  become  so  accustomed 
to  the  presence  of  Lizzie  at  his  bedside,  that  if  she 
were  absent  but  for  a  few  minutes  longer  than  usual  he 
seemed  to  grow  restless  and  uneasy.  This  fact,  more 
than  any  other,  had  iended  to  convince  Lizzie  of  his 
consciousness  and  she  had  been  scrupulously  careful  so 
to  regulate  her  periods  of  absence  that  he  should  never 
miss  her  at  a  time  when  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
have  her  attentions.  The  care  of  this  silent,  prisoned 
soul  had  even  stolen  her  attentions  from  her  husband, 
so  that  she  had  hardly  appreciated  the  storm  which  was 
raging  around  him  until  he  came  to  consult  her  about 
resigning  his  trust.  She  listened  to  all  he  could  tell 
her  about  the  past  few  weeks,  and  felt  that  the  time  had 
come  when  he  should  know  all  that  could  in  any  man- 
ner affect  his  conduct  towards  the  sick  man  to  whom 
he  stood  in  so  many  and  such  strange  relations.  So 
they  sat  together  during  the  long  summer  morning,  and 
she  told  him  all  that  had  occurred  between  herself  and 
Boaz  Woodley,  and  all  that  she  had  learned  of  that 
strange  life.  When  it  was  over,  and  he  had  kissed  her 
and  called  her  his  wonderful  little  wife,  he  said,  without 
a  cadence  of  regret  or  sorrow  in  his  voice: 

"I   cannot   undertake   to  defend   myself  from    these 
charges   without    rendering    the    discovery    of   Colonel 


482  ^'JGS  AND    THISTLES, 

Woodley's  secret  almost  certain,  and  we  owe  him  too 
much  to  endanger  that.     Do  you  not  think  so,  Lizzie?" 

She  did  think  so,  but  she  could  not  command  her 
voice  to  approve  the  self-sacrifice  of  her  husband.  She 
knew  that  he  was  offering  his  life  for  his  friend;  that 
his  gratitude  to  the  dull,  speechless  man  who  was  in 
the  room  beyond  had  led  him  to  sacrifice  his  ambition 
in  the  past  and  his  hope  in  the  future.  She  knew 
that  if  these  shameless  charges  were  not  triumphantly 
refuted,  and  at  once,  that  he  would  lose  not  only  the 
nomination — that  was  nothing — but  all  that  it  stood 
for — a  good  name  among  men.  The  charges  would 
soon  come  to  be  regarded  as  facts,  and  her  husband 
would  be  branded  for  all  time  as  corrupt,  faithless  and 
w^eak.  Yet  she  knew  he  was  right,  and  her  answer  to 
his  question  was  a  kiss   upon  his  forehead. 

The  next  day  he  prepared  a  statement  of  his  receipts 
and  disbursements  as  trustee  of  the  estate  of  Boaz 
Wood  ley,  and  filed  it  with  the  Judge  of  Probate,  with 
a  statement  of  his  reasons  for  changing  some  invest- 
ments, and  a  request  that  he  might  be  relieved  from 
the  care  of  the  estate  as  soon  as  a  prCper  person  could 
be  appointed  to  succeed  him.  He  stated,  however, 
that  on  account  of  the  friendly  relations  between  him- 
self and  his  wife  and  their  afflicted  friend,  he  desired 
to  be  allowed  to  remain  in  charge  of  his  person  and  to 
care  for  him,  either  upon  such  allowance  as  the  Court 
might  direct,  or  at  his  own  expense. 

This  report  excited  unbounded  curiosity  among 
every  class  of  citizens.  Friends  and  foes  were  alike 
nonplussed. 


A   DEBT  OF  HONOR.  483 

"Where,"  asked  one,  "is  the  account  of  the  matter 
of  the  railroad  bonds  ?     They  are  not  mentioned  at  all." 

"The  report  is  evidently  very  skillfully  drawn," 
answered  Lawyer  Latham,  sententiously. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  his  mterlocutor,  "I  hope  General 
Churr  will  come  out  all  right,  and  I  can't  help  believing 
that  he  will.  That  report  seems  to  be  a  very  manly 
one,  and  it  would  make  a  great  many  people  feel  cheap 
if  it  should  turn  out  to  be  so." 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Latham  could  not  resist  the  impres- 
sion himself,  but  he  had  no  intention  of  allowing  it  to 
become  general  until  after  the  nomination,  at  least,  and, 
perchance,  not  till  after  the  election,  if  it  was  in  his 
power  to  prevent  it. 

So,  the  next  day,  he  brought  an  action  against  Mark- 
ham  in  behalf  of  one  who  claimed  to  be  an  heir  of  Boaz 
Woodley,  whom  he  averred  was  a  sister  of  said  Boaz. 
He  alleged  in  his  petition  that  the  said  Churr  had 
greatly  damaged  the  estate  of  said  Woodley  by  a  sale 
or  exchange  of  bonds  of  the  Trans-Continental  Com- 
pany, of  which  Woodley  was  known  to  possess  a  large 
number,  and  thereby  reduced  the  inheritance  of  the 
petitioner  should  the  said  Woodjey  die  intestate,  as 
there  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  would.  He 
further  averred,  upon  information  and  belief,  that  a 
sum  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  lately  deposited  by  said 
Churr,  in  the  name  of  his  wife,  Elizabeth  Churr,  in  the 
National  Bank  of  Aychitula,  was  not  in  fact  the  prop- 
erty of  his  said  wife,  but  the  proceeds  of  certain  sales 
which  said  Churr  had  made  of  the  property  of  his  ward, 
Boaz  Woodley.     He  therefore,  having  made  Mrs.  Churr 


484  ^"^^^  ^^^    THISTLES. 

a  party  to  the  proceeding,  prayed  for  an  attachment 
against  this  fund,  and  for  a  full  account  of  the  estate 
of  said  Woodley  while  under  the  management  of  said 
Churr.  Upon  the  filing  of  the  petition,  a  proper  bond 
having  been  given,  the  attachment  was  granted,  of 
course,  and  served  upon  the  cashier  of  the  bank  as 
well  as  the  parties  defendant. 

No  sooner  was  this  done,  than  Thomas  Horton 
came  over,  and,  after  a  long  consultation  with  Markham,- 
persuaded  him  to  resume,  or  rather  continue,  the  man- 
agement of  the  estate,  he  agreeing  to  make  up  for  him 
whatever  bond  the  Judge  of  Probate  might  require. 

These  events  excited  no  little  comment.  No  one 
seemed  exactly  able  to  account  for  them ;  but,  on  the 
whole,  it  appeared  to  be  the  general  belief  that  the  mat- 
ter was  being  carried  too  far,  and  was  becoming  a  ma- 
licious prosecution. 

"Why  don't  he  speak  out.''"  was  the  general  inquiry 
among  those  who  discussed  the  matter.  But  Markham 
held  his  peace. 

Meantime,  the  day  of  the  convention  rapidly  ap- 
proached, and  the  impression  grew  that  on  that  day 
he  would  break  his  strange  silence,  and  the  hope  was 
freely  expressed  that  he  would  refute  his  traduccrs  and 
utterly  demolish  his  enemies.  Still,  the  days  passed  on, 
and  he  made  no  sign.  So,  at  last,  he  was  not  considered 
as  in  the  field,  and  other  names  were  brought  forward, 
and  the  merits  of  other  aspirants  discussed.  Each 
county  had  its  favorite,  with  the  odds  slightly  in  favor 
of  Mr.  Latham,  whose  age  and  long  service  to  the  party 
were  thought  to  entitle  him  to  especial  consideration. 


A   DEBT  OF  HONOR.  485 

This  feeling  he  had  expected  to  enhance  by  the  suit 
he  had  brought  against  the  present  incumbent,  hoping 
to  appear  thereby  as  a  sort  of  unofficial  vindicator  of 
public  purity — a  self-constituted  censor  of  morals. 

But  Latham's  competitors  by  no  means  lost  heart  at 
his  apparent  lead  in  the  race ;  they  trusted  to  his  pro- 
verbial ill-luck,  and  did  not  fail  to  seize  upon  this  suit 
against  the  trustee  of  Boaz  Woodley  as  a  means  of  im- 
pairing his  chances.  This  made  the  discussion  of  Mark- 
ham's  conduct  more  impartial  than  it  had  hitherto  been, 
since  the  other  candidates,  in  pursuit  of  their  plan  of 
attack  upon  Latham,  were  bound  to  take  the  most 
favorable  view  of  the  present  incumbent.  There  was 
a  mystery,  too,  about  Markham's  very  silence  which  at- 
tracted the  admiration  even  of  his  assailants.  He  avoided 
no  one,  but  passed  about  the  streets  in  the  discharge  of 
his  business  as  polite  and  placid  as  if  he  w^ere  not  the 
center  and  object  of  a  curiosity  which  was  gnawing  the 
heart  of  everyone  of  his  fellow-citizens.  Some  of  his 
most  intimate  friends  had  made  bold  to  remonstrate 
with  him  for  the  course  he  was  pursuing,  expressing 
great  confidence  in  his  integrity,  in  the  defensibility  of 
his  position,  and  the  almost  certainty  of  success  if  he 
would  but  make  the  fight.  Thanking  them  for  their 
confidence,  he  said  that  he  owed  a  duty,  as  he  con- 
sidered it,  to  another,  which  made  it  impossible  to  enter 
upon  the  defence  of  his  conduct  at  this  time. 

"  Do  we  understand,  then,"  said  the  spokesman, 
"that  you  are  no  longer  a  candidate  for  nomination.?" 

"  By  no  means,  sir,"  answered  Markham.  "  I  should 
consider  it  a  confession  of  guilt  to  withdraw  my  name 


486 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


from  competition  before  the  convention.  The  people  of 
the  District  have  seen  fit  to  honor  me,  and  I  have  served 
them.  They  have  a  right  to  pass  upon  my  pubUc  acts, 
and  approve  or  disapprove  of  them  by  renominating  me 
or  refusing  to  do  so.  I  know  in  this  instance  it  is  not 
my  public  acts  of  which  they  will  judge.  As  a  Repre- 
sentative, I  opposed  the  amendment  of  the  charter  of 
the  Trans-Continental.  A  large  portion  of  the  voters 
of  the  District  approve  this  act,  itself,  and  all  of  them 
will  in  time.  It  is  alleged,  however,  that  I  did  it 
from  an  unworthy  motive.  I  cannot  show  the  falsity  of 
this  without  betraying  the  secrets  of  one  who  is  no 
longer  able  to  speak  for  himself.  I  do  not  claim  any 
merit  for  this,  nor  will  I  shrink  from  any  unpleasantness 
it  may  bring.  I  confess  I  do  not  expect  the  nomination, 
nor  am  I  surprised  that  so  fev/  stand  by  me.  Only  the 
closest  personal  intimacy  and  the  strongest  trust  could 
resist  such  a  skillfully-combined  attack  as  has  been  made 
upon  me  when  it  is  left  unanswered." 

So  his  friends  withdrew  no  wiser  than  when  they 
came,  and  wondering  at  the  frank  and  cordial  smile 
which  had  illuminated  the  face  of  their  Representative. 

On  the  Saturday  before  the  convention  was  to  meet, 
Frank  Horton,  after  a  long  conference  with  his  father, 
went  over  to  make  a  final  attempt  to  change  the  de- 
cision of  his  friend,  and  induce  him,  even  at  that  late 
hour,  to  undertake  his  own  defence,  or  at  least  give  his 
friends  the  data,  and  let  them  do  it  for  him :  but  in  vain. 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,  my  friend,  that  you  find  me 
so  unyielding  .?"  said  he,  smiling.  "  I  learned  from  your 
lips  the  lesson  which   has    guided  me   ever  since   and 


A   DEBT  OF  HONOR.  43 ^ 

made  me  dare  to  do  what  I  conceive  to  be  right.     '  As 
a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he.'  " 

"  But  this  is  no  matter  of  right  or  wrong,"  said 
Horton. 

''Very  true;  but  you  do  not  know  how  weighty  a 
secret  pertaining  to  the  honor  of  one  to  whom  1  owe 
so  much  would  be  disclosed  by  any  defence  I  might 
make,"  responded  Markham. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Horton.  "1  know  the  m.an  in 
yonder  is  not  Boaz  Woodley!"  He  pointed  toward  the 
open  door  leading  to  Woodley's  bedroom  as  he  spoke. 

*'Hush!"  said  IMarkham,  quickly. 

"Oh!  you  know  he  cannot  hear,"  said  Horton, 
petulantly,  "and  there  is  no  probability  that  he  ever 
will  again.  Is  it  right  you  should  blast  your  whole  life 
just  to  preserve  an  alias  which  was  probably  adopted 
in  pique  or  sport,  for  a  man  who  will  probably  never 
hear  any  name  this  side  of  the  grave.?" 

"But  how  did  you  learn  this.?" 

"  No  matter.  Not  from  you  or  yours ;  I  pledge  you 
that.  I  think  you  and  Lizzie  would  rather  die  than 
disclose  it." 

"I  have  no  fancy  for  dying,"  said  Markham;  "but 
I  hope  we  would." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  so  stubborn  about  it,"  said  Frank, 
"will  you  permit  me  to  use  it  for  your  benefit?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  prohibit  your  using  the  knowl- 
edge you  have  gained  without  my  aid  ;  but  I  expressly 
request,  as  a  personal  favor,  that  you  will  not  do  so 
during  the  life  of  my  afflicted  friend." 

"But  he  is  the  same  as  dead  now," persisted  Horton. 


488  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would  cast  a  faint  shadow  even 
on  his  memory  in  order  to  explain  my  own  conduct." 

"I  do  think,"  persisted  the  young  minister,  "that 
you  are  carrying   this  spirit   to  great   extremes." 

"  Such  favors  as  I  have  received  from  that  man  can 
hardly  be  too  well  requited." 

"  I  see  it  is  useless  to  reason  with  you,"  said  Frank, 
with  a  smile,  "  and  I  must  say  I  admire  your  pluck  and 
your  loyalty  to  your  old  friend.  At  the  same  time,  I 
cannot  but  think  you  are  carrying  it  to  great  lengths. 
He  would  never  have  sacrificed  a  tithe  of  that  for  you." 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Markham,  as  he  remembered 
his  last  interview  with  Boaz  Woodley.  "Yet  I  am  in 
debt  to  him  for  great  favors  and  disinterested  kindness, 
and  I  owe  him  something  more  than  bare  justice.  We 
owe  him  love.  To  us  he  has  been  as  a  father — an  ex- 
acting father,  in  some  later  respects,  it  may  be  true  ;  but 
none  the  less  paternal  and  devoted  in  the  main.  I 
should  ill  requite  his  kindness  and  ill  deserve  your  con- 
fidence, my  friend,  if  I  should  consent  to  profit  by  a  dis- 
closure of  his  shame." 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  said  Horton,  and  he  ex- 
tended his  hand,  while  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  "  I 
am  afraid,"  he  added,  laughingly,  "  I  shall  be  sorry  for 
having  called  your  attention  to  that  text  if  you  throw 
it  up  at  me  so  often." 

"  And  I,"  said  Markham,  "  can  never  thank  you 
enough  for  doing  so.  Do  you  know,"  and  his  voice 
grew  tremulous,  "  I  hardly  tliink  I  should  have  found 
strength  to  resist  Colonel  Woodley 's  importunities  and 
follow  my  conscience  but  for  that  text  V 


A   DEBT  OF  HONOR.  489 

"Is  it  SO?"  cried  Horton.  "I  thank  God  for  that 
knowledge." 

"  Yes;  I  have  learned  the  secret  of  trust  in  God,  and 
I  date  my  first  step  toward  an  active  faith  in  Christ 
from  that  sermon." 

"  How  God  reproaches  our  weakness  and  want  of 
faith  in  Him,"  said  the  humble  and  repentant  minister. 
"  If  I  had  asked  for  the  dearest  and  most  precious  seal 
of  my  ministry  which  I  could  possibly  desire,  it  would 
have  been  that  I  might  be  the  means  of  helping  you 
to  that  light.  Yet  I  had  never  made  it  a  subject  of 
prayer.  Since  your  trouble  began  I  have  often  prayed 
for  you  as  a  friend,  and  asked  that  you  might  have  grace 
to  bear  your  misfortunes  and  trials.  Yet  I  had  never 
once  asked  that  He  would  give  me  your  soul,  but  com- 
plained that  He  did  not  give  me  others,  for  I  was 
begining  to  doubt  and  murmur  because  I  could  see  no 
visible  fruits  of  my  labors  here.  And  now  I  find  that 
He  had  given  me  this,  which  I  would  prize  above  all 
others,  before  I  had  asked  for  it.  And  this  is  the  reason 
you  stand  by  this  stricken  man  so  faithfully:  you  feel 
bound  to  render  good  for  evil.^" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Markham,  in  wondering  doubt- 
fulness. "  I  only  know  that  while  it  is  possible  to  con- 
ceal his  sad  secret  I  will  never  permit  its  revelation — 
whether  he  is  alive  or  dead — for  any  advantage  I  may 
derive  from  its  disclosure." 

There  was  a  sound  like  a  groan  from  the  adjoining 
room.  It  was  that  portion  of  the  day  when  Lizzie 
usually  sought  for  exercise,  while  her  charge  slept.  The 
door  into  the  library  had  been  left  open,  and  Markham 


490  ^-^GS  A^'^    THISTLES. 

and  Horton  rushed  at  once  to  the  bedside.  Boaz  Wood- 
ley,  instead  of  lying  outstretched  at  length,  as  he  had 
done  for  more  than  six  months,  was  huddled  in  a  heap 
in  the  middle  of  the  bed,  quite  off  the  pillow,  uttering 
strange,  shivering  moans.  They  laid  him  back  upon  the 
pillow  with  some  difficulty  as  Lizzie  entered,  and  she,  at 
a  glance  detecting  a  change,  sent  for  the  physician. 


CHAPTER    LV. 

A    PUZZLED    SOVEREIGN. 

TUESDAY  came,  and  with  it  the  Convention.  Ever 
since  Monday  morning  the  patriots  who  repre- 
sented the  conflicting  interests  of  those  who  were  willing 
to  be  sacrificed  had  been  gathering  in  the  little  village. 
The  one  hotel  had  opposing  hosts  encamped  in  its  two 
wings,  while  the  commodious  law-office  of  an  enthusias- 
tic supporter  of  Mr.  Latham  was  the  headquarters  of 
his  faction.  As  early  as  the  noon  of  Monday  it  was 
apparent  that  the  strength  of  the  three  rivals  was  so 
nearly  equal  that  there  could  not  be  a  selection,  unless 
by  some  serious  defection  from  the  followers  of  the  one 
or  the  other,  until  one  should  withdraw\  Each  one,  it 
was  thought,  could  elect  or  defeat  whichever  rival  he 
might  choose,  but  could  not  be  elected  without  the  aid 
of  one  of  the  others.  Mr,  Latham  could  not  yield. 
He  must  win  this  time  or  never.  This  was  admitted  by 
all.     It  was  claimed  by  his   friends  that   he  had  been 


A    PUZZLED   SOVEREIGN. 


491 


cheated  out  of  the  nomination,  when  it  was  first  given 
to  General  Churr,  through  the  envious  machinations  of 
Boaz  Woodley.  The  others  were  younger  men,  who 
could  better  afford  to  wait,  though  no  more  kindly  in- 
clined to  such  an  experiment. 

During  the  afternoon  of  Monday  there  arrived,  as 
one  of  the  delegates,  Curtis  Field,  Esq.,  from  Pyma- 
tuning,  grown  portly  and  sleek  since  the  days  when 
he  worked  in  Deacon  Andius's  meadow.  Industry, 
integrity  and  frugality  had  brought  to  him.  their  in- 
evitable result — wealth  and  consideration  among  his 
neighbors.  He  had  been  successful  in  his  ventures, 
too,  and  now  there  were  few  more  substantial  men  in 
the  county  than  he.  One  of  the  most  successful 
cheese-factories  was  controlled  by  his  stock;  he  had 
one  of  the  finest  farms  and  best  herds  on  the  Reserve, 
with  a  good  reserve  of  his  own  in  the  National  Bank  of 
Lanesville.  He  was  a  man  of  mark  in.  his  part  of  the 
district,  and  was  much  courted  by  the  rival  candidates. 
Thus  far  he  was  uncommitted  to  any.  He  was  going 
to  Lanesville,  he  said,  to  support  the  best  man  when 
he  found  him,  and  his  neighbors  had  confidence  in 
his  judgment  and  sent  him  untrammeled.  He  held 
one-fifth  the  strength  of  the  county,  and  was  besides 
well  known  and  much  regarded  by  the  other  dele- 
gates for  his  strong  native  sense,  inflexible  integrity 
and  keen  wit.  He  was  a  valuable  man  to  any  one 
whose  cause  he  might  espouse,  and  dangerous  to  any 
whom  he  might  oppose.  Prosperity  had  exercised  its 
usual  refining  influence  upon  him,  and  as  he  had  risen 
in  the  world  he  had  conformed  to  its  customs  and  im- 


492  FIG^  AND    THIETLES. 

proved  his  manners  by  a  careful  observation  of  others, 
without  in  the  least  losing  his  individuality.  Experi- 
ence ajid  wealth  had  modified  his  rude  wit  and  tem- 
pered his  shrewd  sense  without  in  any  degree  lessening 
the  keenness  of  the  one  or  detracting  from  the  strength 
of  the  other.  He  was  the  same  warm-hearted  Curtis 
Field,  with  the  same  manly  love  of  truth  and  i)luck. 

He  was  at  once  seized  upon  by  friends  of  the  three 
aspirants,  each  anxious  to  secure  his  support  for  his 
favorite,  or  at  least  extort  from  him  a  declaration  of 
neutrality.  In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours  he  had 
visited  each  of  the  three,  and  had  been  received  by 
them  all  with  the  gushing  anxiousness  which  marks  the 
expectant  candidate  when  conferring  with  the  delegate 
who  has  in  his  hands  the  power  to  make  or  unmake  his 
opportunity.  The  shrewd  farmer,  in  these  interviews, 
showed  himself  quite  the  equal  of  any  of  his  inter- 
rogators in  diplomatic  skill,  and  managed  to  leave  each 
one  with  the  comfortable  feeling  that  he  could  rely  upon 
the  Pymatuning  delegate  to  do  him  as  little  harm  as 
possible,  if  he  did  not  actually  support  his  claims. 

After  this  he  went  to  call  on  Markham  Churr.  The 
welcome  he  received  both  from  Markham  and  his  wife 
was  of  the  warmest,  for  Lizzie  had  long  since  learned 
to  prize  this  staunchest  of  her  husband's  early  friends. 

"So  you've  come  to  live  at  the  Colonel's  and  take 
care  of  him  since  his  stroke,"  he  said.     "  How  is  he .''" 

Upon  being  informed  that  his  situation  since  Satur- 
day had  been  very  puzzling  to  the  attendant  physician, 
who  could  hardly  decide  whether  his  symptoms  pointed 
to  recovery  or  speedy  dissolution,  he  remarked: 


A   PUZZLED    SOVEREIGX.  ^o^ 

"Wal,  Markham,  I  wish  he  was  well  now.  I  hope 
you'll  excuse  me  for  not  calling  you  General,  but  you 
so  bring  back  tlie  little  boy  I  was  fond  of  that  I  can't 
think  of  any  other  name  for  you  than   Markham." 

"  And  I  am  sure,"  said  Lizzie,  "  we  should  both  be 
offended  if  you  did." 

"Wal,  now,  I  don't  know  about  that.  A  man  likes 
to  have  all  his  titles,  especially  when  he  has  earned  them 
as  well  as  your  husband  has.  I  must  admit,  though, 
that  he  is  as  Utile  inclined  to  forgit  his  old  friends  as 
anyone  I  ever  saw.  I  used  to  git  right  jealous  of  the 
man  that's  in  yonder,  though.  You  know,  I  had  a  sort 
of  pride  in  Markham,  as  if  I  was  part  owner  of  him, 
till  the  old  Colonel  took  him  up,  and  after  that  I  never 
could  get  a  chance  to  help  him  on  a  step.  It  comes 
hard  for  a  man  to  see  a  boy  goin'  alone  whom  he  has 
been  used  to  leadin',  even  if  he  knows  it's  for  the  boy's 
good  and  his  own  advantage." 

"  The  Colonel  has  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me," 
said  Markham. 

"  That  he  has,"  said  Field.  "  I  remember  being  down 
to  Chattanoogy  when  he  had  that  road  on  his  hands,  and 
I  thought  he  couldn't  have  a  minute's  time  to  think  of 
anything  else ;  but  no  sooner  did  he  find  that  I  had 
knowed  you  than  he  took  me  to  his  quarters,  and  I 
found  he  couldn't  say  enough  for  you  even  then.  I  told 
him  then  all  about  your  young  days,  and  one  night  after 
we  had  been  talking  about  you  he  jumped  up  as  if  he 
had  been  stung.  '  Field,'  said  he,  *  I've  got  an  idea.'  He 
looked  so  fierce  and  earnest  all  at  once  that  I  was  most 
afraid  he'd  had  so  many  of  them  that  his  mind  had  got 


494 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


a  little  onhinged.  However,  1  plucked  up  courage  to 
tell  him  that  I  didn't  think  that  was  anything  uncommon 
for  him.  '  H'm — maybe  not,' said  he,  kind  o' dry-like; 
'but  it  is  about  him,  Markham.'  'Wall'  says  I,  'it  seems 
to  me  he  ought  to  thank  you  for  havin'  had  such  idees 
afore.'  '  That  may  be,  too,  says  he;  'but  this  is  a  new 
one.  I've  half  a  mind  to  tell  it  to  you.*  'As  you  choose, 
Colonel,'  says  I,  a  little  stiff  I  expect;  for  I  didn't  quite 
like  his  tone.  '  Don't  be  offended,'  he  said,  politely. 
'I'm  not  used  to  talkin'  out  my  plans,  and  hardly  know 
how  to  go  about  it.  Can  you  keep  a  secret.'''  and  he 
looked  at  me  as  if  he  could  see  clean  through  me  with 
them  blazing  eyes  under  the  great  gray  brows.  '  Fust- 
rate,'  says  I,  '  as  long  as  I'm  seven  hundred  miles  away 
from  the  ole  woman.'  'You'll  do,'  says,  he,  laughing. 
'  Now,  let  me  tell  you.  There's  to  be  a  Congressman 
elected  up  in  our  deestrict  next  fall.'  Then  he  looked 
as  if  he  expected  to  see  me  git  out  of  my  chair  in  sur- 
prise. But  I  sot  still,  as  calm  as  a  May  morning,  and 
said:  '  Wal,'  I've  heard  bigger  pieces  of  news  afore.' 
*  The  devil !'  said  he — I  beg  your  pardon.  Madam  ;  but 
that's  just  what  he  said — '  The  devil !  but  who  do  you 
think  is  to  be  the  candidate  V 

"Then  I  thought  he  was  'lectioneerin'  for  himself, 
and  was  tryin'  to  get  me  committed  for  him ;  so  I  said, 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  '  Wal,  Colonel  Woodley,  I  think 
it's  more  likely  to  be  you  than  me.'  'Bah  !'  he  said,  so 
hot  I  almost  thought  he  would  have  spit  on  me.  '  It 
will  be  Markham   Churr!' 

"Then  I  did  git  up,  sure  enough.  *  Markham 
Churr!'  I  said,  as  soon  as  I  could  get  breath.     'That's 


A    PUZZLED   SOVEREIGN.  ^^^ 

what  I  said,'  says  he,  with  a  smile.  'But  how's  it  to  be 
done?'  I'asked.  'Never  mind,'  says  he;  'I'll  '  tend  to 
that,  and  Markham  shall  never  know  a  word  of  it  till 
he  reads  it  in  the  papers.' 

'"  He  rubbed  his  hands,  and  seemed  for  all  the  world 
like  a  father  who  had  just  thought  up  a  good  thing  to 
surprise  a  favorite  son  with.  He  did  it,  too.  1  was  there 
and  saw  it  done.  Ah,  he  was  a  great  man  and  a  good 
friend  of  yours,  Markham,"  said  Field,  a  little  embar- 
rassed, as  he  saw  both  of  his  listeners  so  much  affected 
at  his  recital. 

"  You  may  well  say  so,"  responded  Markham. 

"  Yes,"  said  Field,  "and  that  was  one  reason  I  wished 
him  well  just  now.  I  don't  want  to  seem  inquisitive  ;  but 
I  would  like  to  ask  why  you  are  lettin'  these  fellows  cut 
you  out  of  your  seat  in  Congress  without  so  much  as 
lifting  a  finger  to  hold  xtV 

"  And  I  will  answer  your  inquiry  just  as  far  as  my 
dut}'  to  one  v/ho  cannot  speak  for  himself  will  permit," 
said  Markham.  *'You  must  have  heard,"  he  continued, 
"that  there  was  a  serious  misunderstanding  between 
Colonel  Woodley  and  myself  in  the  last — well,  the  last 
days  of  his  consciousness." 

"  About  that  new  charter  for  the  Trans-Continental .?" 

"  Yes." 

"  They  say  that  was  the  cause  of  his  attack." 

"  No  doubt  the  excitement  caused  by  it  inclined  him 
to  it;  but  I  have  good  reason  to  know  there  v/as  a  mucli 
better  cause  for  its  occurrence. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  He  wanted  you  to  support  the 
bill,  1  believe  V 


496 


FIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 


"Yes." 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't;  for,  with  all  due  respect  to 
him,  I  think   it's  a  fraud." 

"No  doubt;  and  that  was  why  I  opposed  it;  but 
he  had  set  his  heart  on  it,  and  chiefly,  I  think,  for  the 
sake  of  Lizzie  and  myself,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to 
call  his  children,  and  to  whom  he  intended  to  leave 
his  property." 

"  I  heard  he  destroyed  the  will  in  your  favor." 

"  That  is  true." 

"And  everything  will  go   to  his  natural  heirs?" 

"  I  have  learned  within  a  short  time  that  he  will  leave 
a  will,  executed,  I    believe,  a  long  time  ago." 

"In  your  favor  V 

"  I  know  nothing  of  its  contents,  but  suppose  not." 
"  I'm  sorry.  Did  you  really  think  the  Trans-Con- 
tinental was  bad,  or  did  you  sell  out  Woodley's  stock  for 
spite  .?" 

"I  did  not  sell  it!" 

"What!     Not  sell  it.'" 

"  I  did  not ;  and  for  the  very  good  reason  that  he 
had  sold  every  share  before  I  became  his  trustee." 

"  You  don't  mean  that,"  said  Field,  springing  up. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  Markham.  "You  know  Colonel 
Woodley's  handwriting,  I  presume.?" 

"  As  well  as  my  own,  which  is  pretty  hard  to  mis- 
take," answered  Field. 

"  Well,  look  at  that  letter.  He  wrote  five  such 
to  different  brokers  but  a  few  hours  before  he  was 
stricken." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  !     And  vou  have  sat  still  and  let 


A    PUZZLED    SOVEREIGN. 


497 


these  fellows  howl  all  this  time  witliout  saying  a 
word!'    - 

"Yes." 

"  But  that  fifteen  thousand  ?" 

"Colonel  Woodley  sued  me  for  money  advanced  to 
purchase  stocks  for  my  benefit.  Lizzie  sold  our  house, 
paid  off  the  debt,  and  took  the  stock  for  which  the 
money  had  been  advanced.  I  sold  the  stock  and  de- 
posited the  money  in  her  name." 

"And  there  ain't  anything  w-rong  about  it  at  all," 
queried  Field,  in  surprise,  "  the  bill,  nor  the  stock,  nor 
nothin'," 

"  Of  course  not,"  answered  Markham,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Field,  that  you  are 
just  as  straight,  and  square  and  honest  as  you  was  the 
day  you  went  out  from  my  house  to  go  to  college,  and 
left  me  and  the  old  woman  takin'  on  as  if  we'd  had  a 
funeral  in  the  house  .'^" 

"  Just  the  same,  as  far  as  I  know,"  answered  Mark- 
ham,  seriously. 

"Wal,"  said  Field,  "I'm  bound  to  believe  you,  be- 
cause your  wife  "is  nodding  amen  to  what  you  say,  and 
I  know  she  w'ouldn't  back  the  whitest  lie  that  ever  was 
whispered,  and  I'm  sure  she  would  have  found  it  out 
if  there  was  anything  crooked  about  you;  but  do  you 
know  this  is  confounded   embarrassin'  V 

"Really,"  laughed  Markham,  "  I  cannot  see  why.?" 

"  Wal,  you  see,  I  come  up  here  determined  to  have 
you  renominated.  In  fact  the  ole  woman  as  good  as  told 
I  needn't  come  back  unless  I  did,  and  you  know  what 
that  means  to  one  with  as  little  hair  left  on  his  head  as 


498  J^^GS  '"i^'D    THISTLES. 

I  have.  I  had  my  plan  all  arranged  and  was  all  ready  to 
go  to  work  on  the  ground  that  the  bill  was  a  fraud, 
and,  whatever  your  motive,  you'd  done  right  in  opposin' 
it;  and  you'd  sold  out  the  stock  on  your  best  jedgment. 
I'm  nigh  certain  this  would  have  carried,  for  they're 
in  a  pretty  little  fight  now,  which  won't  grow  any  milder 
by  to-morrow.  But  now  that  you  tell  me  you  are  all 
square  and  haint  backslid  at  all,  I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  I  shall  have  to  change  my  plans.  Can't  you 
give  me  one  of  them  letters  to  show  around?-  Then 
I  can  explain  the  rest,  and  I  believe  if  you'll  show  your- 
self at  the  Court-House,  and  make  a  good  rousing 
speech,  we'll  shove  you  through,  if  you  are  honest!" 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  do  as  you  wish,"  said  Mark- 
ham,  laughing  heartily. 

"Cannot!  cannot  deny  these  charges  and  cram  them 
down  the  throats  of  the  liars  with  these  proofs.'*  Why, 
I  thought  that  was  your  game,  and  was  thinkin'  it  might 
be  a  sharp  one,"  said  Field.     "Why  can't  you.?" 

"  Because  it  would  lead  to  disclosures  by  no  means 
creditable  to  Colonel  Woodley." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  let  yourself  be  beaten  for  Con- 
gress rather  than  let  folks  know  he  was  a  scamp,"  said 
Field,  pettishly.  "Then  why  did  you  let  me  know  it 
was  not  as  I  had  guessed  it  to  be  V 

"  Because  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  the  honest  boy 
you  were  so  kind  to  had  remained  an  honest  man  " 

"Thank  you— but — but — I  b'leve  I'd  rather  have 
taken  that  on  trust  and  had  my  hands  loose.  You've 
made  me  want  you  nom.inated  more  than  ever,  and  tied 
me  up  so  I  don't  see  how  I  can  bring  it  about." 


A    PUZZLED   SOVEREIGN.  499 

"I  would  rather  have  your  good  opinion  than  be  re- 
turned to  Congress,  Mr.  Field." 

*'  I  believe  you  would,  my  boy,"  said  Field,  as  he 
rose  and  extended  his  hand,  "  and  I'm  proud  of  it,  but 
somehow  I'd  rather  see  you  back  in  the  House,  and  I'm 
bound  I  will,  if  possible." 

He  went  back  to  the  hotel  to  arrange  his  plan  of 
action,  and  from  that  time  Markham  Churr  became  a 
factor  which  it  would  have  been  dangerous  to  overlook 
in  the  Convention  of  the  ?/th  District,  though  he  had 
but  one  vote  as  yet  which  could  be  counted  on  with 
certainty. 


CHAPTER  LVL 

IN    ANIMO    DISPONEXDO. 

THE  condition  of  Boaz  Woodley  after  the  day 
when  Markham  and  Frank  had  found  him  fallen 
forward  upon  the  bed  was  a  mystery  to  the  physicians 
who  were  in  attendance  upon  him.  A  constant  rest- 
lessness, an  almost  uninterrupted  groaning,  with  an 
evident  appearance  of  great  anxiety,  characterized  his 
condition.  He  would  hardly  permit  either  Markham  or 
Lizzie  to  be  absent  from  the  room  for  an  instant,  and 
only  seemed  perfectly  content  when  each  was  holding 
one  of  his  nerveless  hands  and  watching  his  yearning 
gaze.  All  through  the  night  and  the  following  day 
these  strange  symptoms  continued.     It   became  evident 


^oo  P^(^^  ^^'D    THISTLES. 

to  all  that  his  mind  was  active  and  some  of  his  senses 
at  work.  Many  attempts  were  made  to  communicate 
with  him,  but  as  he  lacked  all  power  to  respond  with 
any  certainty  they  were  futile.  Towards  Monday 
noon,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  becoming  exhausted 
with  continued  excitement,  and  opiates  were  adminis- 
tered to  prevent  further  loss  of  strength.  When  he  fell 
under  the  influence  of  the  medicines,  Markham  and 
Lizzie  were  released  from  their  attendance  at  his  bed- 
side, but  remained  in  the  library  so  as  to  be  within  call 
should  there  be  any  change.  It  was  here  that  they  saw 
Curtis  Field.  On  Tuesday  morning  the  invalid  was 
more  quiet  and  peaceful  than  he  had  been  for  several 
days.  After  the  early  breakfast,  Lizzie  sat  down,  as  was 
her  custom,  to  read  the  Scripture  to  her  silent  charge — 
her  voiceless  auditor,  as  she  was  now  fully  convinced 
that  he  was.  She  had  read  to  him  so  long  that  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  if  her  reading  had  become  mechan- 
ical. And  yet  perhaps  it  was  well  for  that  darkened 
soul  that  she  had  never  lost  faith  in  the  possibility  of 
good  resulting  from  it.  She  had  read  and  re-read  whole 
chapters  as  slowly  and  deliberately  as  a  child  spells  out 
its  alphabet — time  and  time  again,  until  they  had  be- 
come so  fixed  in  her  memory  that  she  repeated  them 
without  the  aid  of  the  volume  before  her,  and  frequently 
without  being  conscious  of  the  words  she  uttered.  This 
was  the  case  on  the  morning  in  question.  The  pe- 
culiar circumstances  which  surrounded  her  husband 
drew  her  mind  from  the  invalid,  whose  hand  she  held  as 
she  repeated  unconsciously  some  of  the  most  precious 
of  God's  promises  to  his  children.     She   was  suddenly 


IN  ANIMO  DISPONENDO.  50 1 

Startled  by  a  voice  which  she  did  not  at  all  recognize, 
so  strained  and  unnatural  was  it,  coming  from  the  couch : 

"Mar — kham  I" 

Glancing  at  the  pillow,  she  met  the  gaze  of  Boaz 
Woodley,  calm  and  earnest,  fixed  upon  ner  in  tender 
entreaty. 

"Hor — ton,"  he  said,  speaking  again,  with  difficulty, 
enunciating  the  syllables  slowly,  and  with  a  harsh,  ex- 
pressionless tone,  while  the  muscles  of  his  face  twitched 
and  quivered  with  exertion. 

"Haste,"  he  added,  in  the  same  almost  inarticulate 
monotone. 

She  rushed  into  the  library,  w^here  were  Markham, 
Frank  Horton,  Curtis  Field,  and  the  kindly  Doctor  who 
had  so  effectually  seconded  the  efforts  of  Colonel  Wood- 
ley  at  Markham 's  first  nomination. 

"Come!  come!"  she  cried,  with  lips  pallid  and  trem- 
bling. All  knew  that  something  had  befallen  the  in- 
valid, and  followed  her  hastily  into  the  sick-room.  The 
massive  head,  with  its  crown  of  steel-gray  hair,  lay  mo- 
tionless on  the  pillow,  but  underneath  the  shaggy  brows 
the  clear  gray  eyes  moved  calmly  from  one  to  another, 
with  a  look  of  unmistakable  recognition.  Lizzie  had 
hurried  back  to  the  bedside,  and  was  now  holding  a 
hand  of  the  invalid  and  bathing  it  with  tears  and  kisses. 

"Thomas  —  Thomas  —  Horton,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  more  ease  and  distinctness  than  he  had  yet  spoken. 

Understanding  that  he  wished  to  see  his  father, 
Frank  Horton  said : 

"  I  will  bring  him  in  a  moment,"  and  turned  to  leave 
the  room. 


502  ^IGS  AND    THISTLES, 

"  Haste,"  said  the  sick   man,  earnestly. 

The  professional  instincts  of  the  good  Doctor  and 
his  warm  feeling  for  the  invalid  led  him  to  forget  for  a 
moment  that  it  was  not  his  own  patient  lying  there.  He 
stepped  forward  and,  taking  his  disengaged  hand,  asked 
briskly,  as  he  slipped  his  finger  on  the  wrist  and  watched 
keenly  the  eyes  which  were  turned  towards  him : 

"Do  you  know  me,  Colonel  Woodley.?"  An  assent- 
ing motion  of  the  lids  repUed,  and,  after  an  instant,  he 
said,  with  difiiculty  :  "Doc — tor  Mer — rill." 

"  You  wonder  why  I  am  here,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Doctor,  still  watching  him  closely. 

There  came  a  rush  of  inarticulate  sounds  from  the 
sick  man's  lips,  then  his  eyes  were  set  with  determina- 
tion and  his  mouth  closed  firmly  for  an  instant,  and  he 
said,  "  Markham,"  more  distinctly  than  before. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  nodding  quickly.  "They 
are  trying  to  beat  him  novv^  he  has  not  you  to  stand  up 
for  him." 

"Markham,"  he  said  again,  turning  his  eyes  upon 
him.  Markham  took  the  hand  Lizzie  was  holding,  and 
his  voice  was  husky  as  he  said : 

"  Don't,  Colonel  Woodley,  you  will  exhaust  your- 
self." 

"  Must — now.  Markham — Lizzie,"  he  added,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other,  "Forgive!" 

"Oh!"  cried  Lizzie,  through  her  tears,  "we  have 
nothing  to  forgive." 

"And  if  we  had,"  said  Markham,  huskily,  "  it  is  for- 
gotten." 

"Markham,"  said  he  again. 


IiY  ANIMO   DISPONENDO.  cox 

"Yes,"  replied  Markham,  clasping  the  hand  he  held 
with  the  other  also. 

"  Doctor,"  said  the  sick  man,  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
the  kindly  face  that  bent  over  him  with  a  keen,  cool, 
professional  scrutiny. 

"  Yes,  Colonel,  I  understand,"  said  the  Doctor,  lean- 
ing forward   and  watching  every  look    and   expression. 

"F — f — field,"  said  Woodley,  turning  his  eyes  upon 
that  worthy,  who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Yes,"  said  Curtis,  with  a  start;  "I'm  here,  Colonel, 
and  glad  you  know  me.     Sorry  to  see   you   so — so — " 

"  Hush,"  whispered  the  Doctor,  with  upraised  finger. 

"  Markham,"  and  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  him  again 
and  then  upon  the  Doctor  and  Field  in  succession,  and 
continued:     "  Honest  man  !     Honest  man  !" 

"  You  mean,"  said  the  Doctor,  catching  his  purpose 
with  quick  intelligence,  "  to  say  that  General  Churr  is 
an  honest  man,  and  that  all  charges  to  the  contrary  are 
false." 

"Yes;  false!" 

Markham/s  head  bent  over  the  hand  he  held,  and 
tears  fell  upon  it. 

While  this  scene  was  in  progress,  Frank  Horton  and 
his  father  came  into  the  room  with  noiseless  steps,  and 
the  elder  pressed  forward  to  the  bedside. 

"  Thomas." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  faithful  old  cashier,  leaning  over 
the  bedside.     "  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  sir.^" 

"Sh — "said  the  Doctor;  and  added,  under  his  breath, 
in  the  cashier's  ear,  "  watch  his  face  closely,  so  as  to 
know  what  he  says,  and  do  as  he  wishes." 


£04  ^^^^  ^^^^    THISTLES, 

"Horton." 

"Yes." 

"My— will." 

"  1  have  it  here,"  and  he  drew  forth  a  parchment 
from  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  opened  and  held  it 
up  before  the  invalid's  face.  He  seemed  to  scan  it  an 
instant,  and  then  said : 

"Yes — write." 

"On  the  will?"  asked  Horton,  taking  out  his  pencil. 

"  Y — y — yes — with — a — pen." 

While  a  stand  was  being  prepared  with  pen  and  ink, 
the  Doctor  stepped  to  a  table  on  which  were  some  vials, 
asked  a  question  or  two  of  Lizzie,  poured  out  a  little 
from  one,  added  a  few  drops  from  another,  and,  ap- 
proaching the  bed,  said : 

"  This  will  give  you  strength  for  a  short  time ;  but 
whatever  you  wish  to  do  must  be  done  at  once.  Do  you 
understand  .'*" 

"^Yes." 

He  swallowed  the  draught  eagerly,  and  the  Doctor 
asked : 

"  Shall  we  withdraw.  Colonel  V 

"  No — stay,"  he  answered,  "all." 

The  Doctor  and  Markham  raised  him  up  on  the  pil- 
lows, and  turned  his  face  toward  where  Thomas  Horton 
sat,  pen   in  hand,  alert  to  catch  his  words. 

"Cod — i — cil,"  said  the  sick  man." 

"  To  the  foregoing  will  I  make  and  attach  the  fol- 
lowing codicil .?"  asked  Horton." 

"Yes." 

The  cashier  wrote  the  words  quickly,  and  looked  up. 


IN  ANIMO   DISPONEXDO.  505 

"One  —  half — Lizzie,"  said  Woodley,  glancing  to- 
ward her.     *' Daugh — ter." 

"In  fee?"  asked  Horton. 

"  Yes." 

"I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Elizabeth  Churr,  my 
adopted  daughter,  and  wife  of  Markham  Churr,  one 
half  of  my  estate,  both  real  and  personal,  to  her  and  her 
heirs  forever,"  repeated  Horton,  as  he  wrote. 

"Yes,"  assented  Woodley;  "and  other — half — Mark- 
ham — if — heirs — not — found." 

"And  if  the  heirs  of  Enoch  Hatch  above  named  can- 
not be  found,  or  if  he  have  no  lawful  heirs  of  his  body 
descended  now  alive,  then  I  give  and  bequeath  the  other 
moiety  and  residue  of  my  estate,  both  real  and  personal, 
to  Markham  Churr  and  his  heirs  forever.  Is  t,liat  what 
you  mean.?"  asked  Horton. 

"  Yes,  yes — write,"  said  Woodley,  with  impatience. 

It  was  written  and  read  over  to  him. 

"  Executors,"  he  said. 

"I  constitute  and  appoint,"  said  Horton,  "  who  .'*" 

"  Frank  Worthington  Horton,"  said  Woodley,  gazing 
at  him.  Frank  started  and  fell  upon  his  knees  by  the 
bedside.  "God  bless  you  for  your  trust,"  he  said,  and 
bowed  his  head. 

"  Frank  Worthington  Horton,  executor  of  this  my 
last  will  and  testament." 

"Yes — yes — that  is  right." 

It  was  all  read  over  to  him,  and  again  assented  to, 
and  the  name  was  adaed,  and  the  dull  hand  was  made 
to  touch  the  pen.  The  instincts  of  his  profession  were 
still  strong  upon  him,  and  he  said,  with  much  effort : 


5o6 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


*'  Doctor — Field — my  will — attest." 

They  attached  their  names  as  witnesses,  and  when 
that  w^as  done,  the  sick  man  sank  back  with  a  sigh,  ex- 
claiming : 

"That— is— all!" 

The  Doctor  touched  his  pulse. 

"  It  is  almost  over,"  he  said,  solemnly. 

After  a  moment  the  dying  man  opened  his  eyes,  and 
looked  around. 

"  Mark — ham  ;   Liz — zie,"  he  said,  wearily. 

They  knelt  beside  him,  each  taking  a  hand. 

"  Read — read — daugh — ter ;  the  val — ley — and — the 
shadow." 

In  trembling  tones,  choked  with  tears,  Lizzie  repeated 
the  psalm  which  has  comforted  so  many  a  passing  soul. 
The  watchers  v/ho  stood  around  the  bedside  heard  the 
clock  upon  the  mantel  strike  the  hour  of  eleven.  A 
smile  came  over  the  wan  and  rugged  features  as  the 
psalm  concluded.  A  murmured  word,  which  those  who 
stood  nearest  thought  was  "Rest,"  floated  from  his  lips, 
and  all  was  over.  The  Doctor  reached  forward,  and 
with  tender  touch  closed  the  heavy  lids ;  a  half-uncon- 
scious prayer  came  from  the  lips  of  the  kneeling  minister, 
and  earth  had  bidden  farewell  to  as  rugged  a  soul  as 
ever  habited  in  a  tenement  of  clay. 

As  they  turned  av/ay  from  the  bedside,  the  bell  of 
the  Court-House  rang  for  the  assembling  of  the  con- 
vention. 


CHAPTER  LVII, 

A    COUNCIL    OF    STATE. 

FROM  the  chamber  of  death,  the  Doctor,  the  Hor- 
tons — father  and  son — and  Curtis  Field  went  forth 
to  the  court  of  King  Caucus.  When  they  entered  the 
building,  the  convention  was  already  organized,  com- 
mittees had  been  chosen,  and  a  supporter  of  the  claims 
of  Mr.  Latham  had  just  moved  that  the  convention 
proceed  to  the  nomination  of  a  candidate  to  represent 
the  nX\\  District  in  the  Forty-second  Congress.  The 
motion  was  carried,  and  the  mover,  taking  the  floor, 
nominated,  in  a  speech  of  considerable  ability,  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Latham,  taking  occasion,  in  the  course  of  his  re- 
marks, to  reflect  with  considerable  bitterness  upon  the 
present  incumbent,  and  to  contrast  Mr.  Latham's  excel- 
lencies with  the  other's  imperfections.  As  he  con- 
cluded, the  bell  of  the  neighboring  church  began  to 
toll.  Its  solemn  tones  swelled  through  the  open  win- 
dows— at  first  slowly,  and  after  a  time  in  quicker  strokes, 
telling  the  years  of  the  departed,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  that  region.  A  whisper  ran  through  the  audi- 
ence that  it  was  the  passing  bell  which  marked  the  exit 
of  Boaz  Woodley's  soul.  All  sat  in  respectful  silence, 
counting  the  strokes.  When  the  seventieth  year  had 
been  struck,  and  the  last  echo  had  died  away,  leaving 
a  solemn    hush   throughout   the   crowded   room,   Curiis 

507 


5o8 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


Field   arose,   and,   being   recognized    by  the    chairman, 
proceeded  to  address  the  meeting : 

"  Mr.  Chairman  ;  The  notes  of  that  bell  seem  to  say- 
to  me  that  I've  got  a  duty  to  perform  at  this  meetin' — 
a  duty  which  I  came  here  to  do,  but  could  not  have 
done,  in  any  way  that  I  can  see,  if  I  hadn't  first  heard 
that  bell,  or  been  otherwise  certified  of  the  death  of 
him  we  have  so  long  known  as  Boaz  Woodley.  At  the 
same  time,  there's  nobody  here  sorrier  than  1  that  he's 
gone.  He  was  one  of  them  men  we  sometimes  meet 
that  we  can't  help  admirin',  even  if  we  don't  in  all 
things  approve.  He  was  an  arnest  man,  one  that  meant 
business,  was  Colonel  Woodley.  [Cries  of  "  That's  so !"] 
Yes,  gentlemen,  he  meant  business  in  everything,  great 
and  small,  that  he  undertook.  There  was  no  triflin' 
with  him,  and,  for  that  matter,  no  jokin',  either,  that  I 
could  ever  see.  I  remember  how  the  eddicated  lawyers, 
like  Mr.  Latham,  used  to  jest  and  philander  over  a  mat- 
ter till  we  jurofs  didn't  half-know  which  from  t'other, 
and  then  Boaz  Woodley  would  get  up  and  set  us  right 
in  a  few  minutes'  plain  talk  that  cut  to  the  marrer  like 
a  cleaver  with  a  razor-edge.  ["That's  so!"  "Good 
for  you  !"  "  Go  on  !"]  We  know  he  meant  business  in 
politics.  Durin'  the  easy-goin'  times,  while  there  didn't^ 
seem  no  need  for  everybody  to  take  a  hand — who  ever 
see  him  in  a  political  meetin'.?  I  never  did.  I  can 
remember  seein'  Mr.  Latham's  head  in  the  caucuses  of 
one  party  or  another  ever  sence  the  time  when  it  used 
to  be  as  black  as  it  is  white  now,  and  I  was  a  skeered 
boy  in  the  gallery.  But  I  never  seed  Boaz  Woodley  in 
sech  a  place  till  the  time  come,  for  a  spell,  when  there 


A    COUNCIL    OF  STATE. 


509 


wa'n't  no  parties;  and  then,  right  here,  on  the  steps  of 
this  court-house,  I  heard  him  make  his  first  political 
speech.  You  heard  it,  too — and  you — and  you,"  look- 
ing round,  and  pointing  to  various  delegates.  ^^  Didnt 
he  mean  business  then  ?  I  remember  just  what  he  said : 
'•  My  friends :  There  is  no  son  of  my  loins  to  represent 
me  in  the  service  of  my  country ;  my  wife  is  dead.  So 
far  as  I  know,  my  blood  runs  in  the  veins  of  no  other 
human  bein'.  I  am  alone  and  old ;  and,  because  I  can 
give  no  other  life  to  aid  my  country  in  her  hour  of 
peril,  I  have  offered  my  own.  It  has  been  accepted. 
Whatever  Boaz  Woodley  can  find  to  do  to  save  this 
country  he  will  do  it.  And  if  any  of  you  choose  to  go 
with  me — you,  your  sons,  or  your  brothers — he  will  not 
forget  to  do  all  that  he  can  for  their  comfort  and  safety. 
I  don't  claim  to  be  a  soldier,  but  something  more  than 
soldiers  are  needed  in  war,  and  I  shall  try  and  find  my 
place  of  duty,  and  do  what  is  placed  before  me.'  [Cries 
of  "He  did  it,  too!"] 

"  That  he  did.  He  meant  business.  In  the  hospital 
where  your  sons  lay  wounded  ;  in  the  field,  though  he 
was- no  soldier;  and  in  charge  of  that  long  line  of  rail- 
road which  no  one  else  could  manage,  Boaz  Woodley 
did  his  duty,  and  did  it  well.  I  remember  how  he 
closed  his  speech.  'IM  forget  to  do  these  things,'  said 
he,  Met  me  be  counted  a  braggart  and  a  liar,  and  let 
no  man  afterwards  vally  Boaz  Woodley 's  word.'  Did 
anyone  ever  know  Boaz  Woodley  to  go  back  on  his 
word.^      [Cries  of  "  Never  !  never!"] 

"  That's  my  recollection,  gentlemen,  and  I'm  glad 
that   you  agree  with  me.     Now,  I  hain't  got  nothin'  agin 


^lo  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

the  man  named  by  my  friend  on  the  right,  only  I  don't 
think  that  a  man  who  took  out  his  part  of  the  fighiin' 
in  makin'  speeches  to  get  others  to  go  into  the  war  has 
arned  the  highest  pkice  in  the  gift  of  the  party  that 
fought  that  war.  ["  That's  so!"]  I'd  rather  take  some 
young  feller  that  left  an  arm  or  a  leg  down  in  Virginia 
or  Tennessee,  even  with  perhaps  not  quite  so  big  a  stock 
of  brains.  In  short,  I  think  we've  got  plenty  of  men 
who've  arned  this  seat  a  sight  better  than  Mr.  Latham. 

"  But,  Mr.  Chairman,  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  beat  around 
the  bush.  I've  knowed  General  Churr  ever  since  he 
was  born,  almost,  and  I  knowed  his  father  and  his 
mother  afore  him.  The  newspapers  has  tried  to  slur 
him  of  late,  but  Curtis  Field  knew  his  father,  his  mother, 
his  grandfather  and  his  grandmother,  afore  he  was  born. 
And  I  say,  here,  that  the  man  that  says  or  hints  a  word 
agin'  his  birth  is  a  liar  and  a  rascal  \  [Applause.] 
Markham  Churr  was  one  that  meant  business,  too;  and 
when  his  ole  grandfather  abused  him  so  he  could'nt 
stand  it  any  longer,  he  run  away — a  little  chap,  not 
mor'n  ten  or  twelve — with  nothin'  to  his  name  but  a 
yaller  dog !  He  made  his  own  way — through  the 
'cademy  and  college,  and  God  knows  what  else,  nnd 
made  himself  a  man.  And  when  Boaz  AVoodley  took 
hirn  up  and  give  him  a  laAvyer's  job — right  there  under 
Lawyer  Latham's  nose — 't'want  for  any  favor,  but  be- 
cause he  hiaived  he'd  do  it.'" 

"  He  knew  that  Mr.  Latham  wouldn't  undertake 
such  a  business,"  interrupted  a  representative  of  that 
gentleman. 

*^That  may  be,"  said  Field,  with  a  queer  look,  "but 


A    COUNCIL    OF  STATE.  en 

I  never  heerd  that  he  had  any  great  reputation  for 
refusin'  fees.  [Laughter.]  But  I'm  a-talking  about 
Markham  Churr;  and  when  the  war  came,  the  young 
man  wa'n't  back'ard  about  goin',  at  only  eight  dollars  a 
month.  It's  true  he  got  up,- but  there  ain't  a  man  here 
that  won't  say  he  arned  all  he  got.  [Cries  of  "  That's 
so!"] 

"  Wal— I  was  proud  when  we  sent  Markham  Churr 
of  Pymatuning  to  Congress,  'cause  I  knowed  he  was  a 
man.  He's  been  there  three  times,  and  I  was  about  of 
a  mind  to  say  to  him  :  Now,  don't  overdo  the  matter ! 
Don't  force  yourself  on  the  people!  Let  some  of  the 
other  boys  have  a  chance  now.  And  I  happen  to  know 
that  was  what  he  wanted  to  do ;  wlien  all  at  once  came 
out  all  these  charges  agin  him  which  my  young  friend 
has  alluded  to.  Now,  I'm  a  mighty  peaceable  man  till 
somebody  pitches  into  me;  and  then  I  can't  git  fight 
enough.  So  the  minit  I  heard  of  these  false  ^charges  I 
was  tooth  and  toe-nail  for  General  Churr  agin!  [Cheers 
and  hisses!]  Now,  don't  try  that,  I  aint  but  one,  and 
only  a  plain  farmer,  but  I  haint  been  afraid  of  anything 
that  hissed  sence  I  was  big  enough  to  drive  geese  to 
water!  [Laughter,  and  cries  of  "  Go  on!"]  Thank 
ye,  gentlemen  !  This  is  a  free  country  ;  jest  as  free  for 
a  man's  friends  as  his  enemies — if  he's  got  any  ! 
[Laughter.]  Now,,  what's  the  charges  against  General 
Churr?  Not  that  he  voted  agin  the  Trans-Continental 
Railroad's,  new  charter  !  That  vote's  ginerally  counted 
pretty  near  right,  now.  Anyhow,  the  thing  looks  £0 
near  like  a  swindle  that  a  man  couldn't  be  blamed  for 
shootin'  it   for   one,  so   far   as  I  can    see!     But    :c   is 


512 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


claimed  that  he  would  have  voted  for  it  if  he  had  got 
his  price!  Now,  if  that  is  so,  he  ought  to  be  kicked 
out  and  rid  on  a  rail  by  this  convention,  too  !  But  he 
didn't  never  do  it;  never!  [Great  excitement.  Cries 
of  "Proof!"  *' What's  he  kept  so  still  about  it  for?"] 
I'm  glad  you  asked  that!  Who  would  have  been  hurt 
most  if  he  had  defeated  the  bill?  [''  Boaz  Woodley  !"] 
Of  course,  and  he  would  have  been  the  man  v>-ho  had 
most  right  to  complain  if  he  had  flown  from  his  bar- 
gain, wouldn't  he  ?" 

One  of 'Mr.  Latham's  supporters  interrupted  him  to 
say  that  he  was  probably  not  aware  that  one  of  the  last 
acts  of  Woodley's  consciousness  was  to  sue  General 
Churr, 

"  I  was  well  aware  of  that,"  said  Field,  "  and  it 
proves  jest  what  I  was  going  to  say,  that  he  was  mad 
at  General  Churr  for  takin'  the  course  he  did.  But  if 
Markham^  Churr  had  sold  out  Boaz  Woodley  by  de- 
mandin'  mor'n  the  price  agreed  on  for  his  support  of 
that  bill,  do  you  suppose  Boaz  Woodley  would  ever 
have  forgiven  him,  either  in  this  v\'orld  or  the  next? 
[Cries  of  ''Never;  no,  never!"]  Wal,  now,  let  me 
tell  you  .  General  Churr  told  me  all  about  this  matter, 
and  then  said  .  You  must  not  use  it,  because  inquiry 
into  the  facts  will  bring  a  serious  reflection  upon 
Colonel  Woodley,  which  he  ain't  in  no  condition  to 
explain.'  So  I  was  bound  by  a  promise  not  to  speak. 
But',  gentlemen,  that  toUin'  bell  lets  me  loose.  This 
mornin'  I  see  what  seemed  to  me  a  miracle,  wrought  to 
save  a  good  man's  name  from  stain.  Before  Colonel 
Woodley   died,   a  few  of  us  was    standin'  by  his  bed, 


A    COUNCIL    OF   STATE.  O^ 

and  General  Churr  and  his  wife  was  kneelin'  by  it,  when 
the  lips  that  hain't  framed  a  word  in  six  months  opened, 
and  said  to  Doctor  Merrill  and  me — callin'  us  both  by 
name  first,  so  there  should  be  no  mistake:  '  Markham 
Churr 's  an  honest  man — an  honest  man.'  And  then  he 
made  his  will,  and  left  a  handsome  fortune  to  the  man 
he  would  always  have  hated,  if  what  they  say  is  true ! 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  concluded,  "I  nominate  Mark- 
ham  Churr,  of  Lanesville." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  a  burst  of 
doubtful  applause. 

The  representative  of  Mr.  Latham  was  on  his  feet 
in  an  instant,  and  remarked,  with  cutting  emphasis : 

"Colonel  Woodley  was  probably  not  aware  how 
General  Churr  had  cheated  his  heirs  during  his  long 
unconsciousness.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  make  a 
will,  and  his  relatives  will  soon  dispose  both  of  the 
will  and  his  present  trustee  and  pretended  ^legatee." 

"You  remember,  gentlemen,"  resumed  Field,  hardly 
deigning  to  notice  his  assailant,  "  that  Boaz  Woodley 
told  you  in  i86t  that  he  had  neither  chick  nor  child, 
nor  drop  of  kindred  blood  in  livin'  veins.  So  if  Mr. 
Latham  has  found  any  heirs,  I  'spect  he's  found  some 
that  the  man  that  has  just  died  never  heerd  of,  and,  as 
like  's  not,  they'll  turn  out  to  be  the  heirs  of  the  wrong 
man  after  all.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  gentlemen,"  he 
added,  with  solemn  severity,  "  the  man  we  have  called 
Boaz  Woodley  since  our  boyhood  had  no  right  to  that 
name,  except  that  of  long  use.  He  was  the" son  of  an 
only  daughter  who  died  at  his  birth,  unmarried.  So  he 
said  in  his  will,  made  many  years  ago,  all  but  the  codicil 


514  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

added  this  morning;  and  by  that  will  he  left  his  prop- 
erty, I'm  told,  not  to  any  kith  or  kin — for  he  had  none 
— but  to  some  one  that  he  owed  goodwill  to  in  his 
young  days.  If  you  want  any  further  information,  I 
refer  you  to  his  executor,  the  Rev.  Frank  W.  Horton — 
who  is  here  present." 

Thus  called,  Mr  Horton  went  forward,  and,  in  a 
few  words,  confirmed  the  statements  which  Field  had 
made.  He  did  not  at  this  time  feel  justified  in  speaking 
with  particularity  of  the  will  of  Colonel  Woodley,  of 
which  he  was  named  executor.  He  would  say,  though, 
that  one-half  the  estate  was  devised  to  the  heirs  of  a 
person,  not  a  relative,  to  whom  he  was  understood  to 
have  been  under  obligation  for  some  favor  in  his  early 
life.  If  the  heirs  of  this  party  fail  to  claim  the  legacy 
within  a  time  stated,  it  is  to  go  to  General  Churr,  by 
the  terms  of  the  codicil — the  other  moiety  being  be- 
queathed to  Mrs.  Churr  in  fee.  This  showed  the  esti- 
mate which  Colonel  Woodley  had  of  the  man  who  now 
represents  us.  If  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of,  cer- 
tainly others  should  not  attack  General  Churr  on  his 
behalf.  As  to  General  Churr's  relations  to  the  charter 
of  the  Trans-Continental  Railway  and  Colonel  Woodley 
as  President  of  it,  he  would  say  that  he  had  himself 
personal  knowledge  of  them  to  a  considerable  extent, 
and  knew  that  the  coldness  which  at  one  time  existed 
between  them  had  proceeded  entirely  from  the  stubborn 
and  unexpected  refusal  of  the  Representative  to  support 
the  bill  for  any  price  or  under  any  circumstances  what- 
ever, and  that  simply  because  he  cuuld  not  do  it  with 
a  clear  conscience.     That  the  legacies  embraced  in  the 


A    COUNCIL    OF   STATE.  .^^ 

codicil  had  been  stated  in  his  presence,  by  Colonel 
Woodley,  to  have  been  made  in  distinct  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  ovv-n  error,  and  for  the  express  purpose  of 
vindicating  the  character  of  General  Churr  from  the 
vile  aspersions  which  had  been  cast  upon  it. 

"  He  probably  did  not  know  that  Churr  had  sold  out 
all  his  Trans-Continental  stock!"  shouted  a  follower  of 
Latham. 

'"T>Q  you  know  it.?"  asked  Horton,  coolly. 
"  Why,  it  has  been  current  rumor  for  months  !   Every- 
body knows  it!"  answered  the  interlocutor. 

''Then  everybody  knows  what  is  not  a  fact,"  was  the 
firm  reply.  "From  personal  knowledge,  I  aver  that 
Markham  Churr  has  not  sold  a  share  of  stock  belonging 
to  the  estate  of  Mr.  Woodley  since  it  came  into  his 
hands." 

"What,  pray,  has  become  of  the  stock,  then.?" 
"  Mr.  Woodley  himself  sold  every  share  of  it  before 
he  was  attacked  !" 

"  Then,  why,"  said  a  petulant  inquirer,  "  has  General 
Churr  kept  still  so  long.?" 

"Because,"  answered  Horton,  "he  knew  that  any 
examination  into  his  affairs  would  reveal  matters  not 
creditable  to  one  who  had  been  his  friend,  and  who 
Avas  not  then  able  to  explain  or  justify  them ;  he  forgot 
Colonel  Woodley's  later  enmity,  and  was  willing  to 
sacrifice  his  own  future  to  screen  the  past  of  his  friend  !" 
JCries  of  "  Good  !     Good  !"] 

The  excitable  Doctor  Merrill  was  on  a  seat  again  in 
an  instant,  swinging  his  hat,  and  calling  for  three  cheers 
for  General  Churr;   which  were  given  with  that  peculiar 


5 id  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

heartiness  which  men  feel  when  they  do  a  kindness  to 
one  they  have  wronged. 

Then  one  of  the  younger  candidates,  who  had  come 
in,  and  saw  how  the  tide  was  setting,  thought  it  well  to 
make  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and,  with  great  enthusiasm, 
moved  that  General  Markham  Churr  be  nominated  by 
acclamation.  This  was  done,  and  the  convention  ad- 
journed— King  Caucus  having  a  second  time  most  un- 
expectedly decided  in  favor  of  the  right  man. 


CHAPTER    LVIir. 

IN    THE    SHADE    OF    THE    CYPRESS. 

THE  sermon  which  the  young  minister  preached  at 
the  funeral  of  the  strange  man  whose  executor  he 
had  been  named  was  from  the  same  text  which  he  had 
chosen  when  he  first  occupied  the  pulpit  at  Lanesville. 
Yet  those  who  heard  it  said  it  was  not  at  all  like  the 
one  which  he  had  then  delivered.  Instead  of  being 
surcharged  with  hope  and  the  confidence  of  faith  which 
believes  because  of  divine  assurance,  this  was  full  of 
the  humble,  tearful  gladness  which  speaks  of  faith  as- 
sured by  fulfillment.  He  did  not  eulogize  the  dead. 
He  was  not  there,  he  said,  to  praise  or  blame,  but  to 
show,  so  far  as  he  might,  the  glory  and  truth  of  his 
Master.  So  he  pointed  to  the  life,  which  h^d  been 
crowned  at  its  close  by  an  act  of  forgiveness ;  showed 
the  danger  of  judging  by  appearances  or  rumor,  and 
that  the  true  rule,  the  criterion  by  which  God  judged, 


IN    THE   SHADE    OF    THE    CYPRESS.  517 

and  which  He  only  could  fully  apply,  was  that  of  the 
Holy  Volume — "as  he  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he." 
The  lesson  which  he  would  teach  was  universal  charity 
— the  charity  which  trusts  that  God  will  find  somewhat 
of  good  in  every  living  soul  when  he  comes  to  apply  to 
it  the  test  of  infinite  and  final  truth.  He  softened  the 
sad  mystery  of  the  life  which  had  ended,  until  those 
who  heard  him  would  as  soon  have  mutilated  the  form 
before  them  as  to  have  pried  unkindly  into  the  dead 
man's  past.  Whatever  the  secret  of  his  life,  they  were 
content  to  let  it  remain  such,  except  so  far  as  he  had 
chosen  to  reveal  it.  They  could  not  help  but  wonder, 
but  from  that  day  it  was  a  wonder*tempered  with  com- 
passion. For  the  first  time,  perhaps,,  since  he  had  re- 
moved to  Lanesville  f?om  the  little  border  town  of 
Beaver  Dam — being  then  a  man  of  mature  years  and 
large  estate — Boaz  Woodley  was  regarded  by  the  people 
of  the*  town  with  something  like  tenderness — that  day 
when  they  laid  him  away  under  the  full-leafed  maples 
in  the  village  cemetery,  beside  his  simple-hearted  wife 
and  weakling  son. 

And  no  sooner  were  the  clods  pressed  down  upon  his 
marble  lips,  than  many  tongues  seemed  to  be  loosed  by 
the  fact  of  death  to  testify  of  kindly  acts  done  in  his  life 
— done  in  a  strange,  harsh  way,  without  show  of  sym- 
pathy, or  hope  or  possibility  of  reward ;  even,  as  it  seemed, 
with  a  disregard  of  gratitude  and  an  aversion  to  thanks. 

The  will  of  Boaz  Woodley  was  offered  for  probate. 
Its  contents  were  peculiar  : 

"  I,  known  as  Boaz  Woodley,  being  of  sound  and 
disposing  mind,  do  hereby  make  and  publish  my  last  will 


5i8  FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 

and  testament,  in  manner  and  form  as  follows;  and,  in 
so  doing,  do  first  declare  that  I  am  the  only  child  of  ?.n 
only  child,  who  died  at  my  birth,  being  still  z.fenie  soh% 
and  that  I  have  no  living  children.  So  that  there  are 
none  whom  the  law  might  favor  in  any  attempt  to  over- 
throw this  testament.  I  give  and  bequeath  all  of  my 
estate  to  the  heirs  of  the  body  of  Enoch  Hatch,  formerly 
of  the  town  of  Westbridge,  in  the  State  of  Massachu- 
setts, if  any  from  him  descended  shall  come  forw^ard  or 
be  discovered  within  three  years  from,  and  after  the 
qualification  of  an  executor  hereof.  In  default  of  such 
lieirs  of  the  said  Enoch  Hatch,  or  in  case  they  shall  not 
come  forward  and  claim  this  legacy  v.ithin  the  time 
above  limited,  I  give  and  bequeath  said  estate  to  the 
following  persons  as  trustees  for  the  purposes  hereinafter 
set  forth,  to  wit :  to  my  executor  during  his  life,  and  his 
successors,  to  be  appointed  from  time  to  time  by  the 
Judge  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  for  the  County  of 
Beaver,  jointly  with  the  Probate  Judge  of  said  County, 
and  his  successors  in  office,  and  the  Sheriff  of  said 
County  and  his  successors  in  office,  the  said  trustees  to 
hold  said  estate  and  administer  said  trust  jointly  under  the 
direction  of  the  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  in 
said  County  in  perpctuum.  That  the  purpose  of  said  trust 
shall  be,  to  have  said  estate  so  invested  as  to  be  most 
secure  and  require  the  leagt  attention,  and  to  devote  the 
income  thereof  to  the  aid  and  assistance  of  such  persons 
as  may,  through  poverty  or  sudden  temptation,  or  the 
allureinents  of  youthful  vice,  be  led  to  the  commission 
of  crime,  and  who,  in  th^  judgment  of  such  trustees, 
may  be  induced  by  5uch  aid  to  lead  exemplary  and  use- 


AV    THE   SHADE    OF    THE    CYPRESS.  519 

ful  lives  thereafter.  I  desire  that  the  administration  of 
this  trust  may  be  conducted  with  all  possible  secrecy,  so 
that  the  parties  thus  aided  may  be  induced  to  lead  up- 
right lives  in  the  hope  that  past  offences  may  be  for- 
gotten or  concealed. 

"  If  I  should  not  hereafter  appoint  an  executor,  by  a 
codicil  hereto,  it  is  my  desire  that  the  accompanying 
sealed  packet  shall  be  delivered  to  the  Judge  of  the 
Court  of  Common  Pleas  of  said  County,  and  that,  after 
having  read  the  same,  he  shall  nominate  and  appoint  a 
fit  person  to  be  executor  hereof,  and  that  the  person 
thus  selected  be  my  executor,  and  that  said  packet  be 
delivered  to  him,  and  after  reading  the  same,  that  he 
cause  it  to  be  burned  in  the  presence  of  said  Judge. 

"  Should  I  appoint  an  executor  hereafter  by  codicil, 
it  is  my  desire  that  he  should  carefully  read  the  sealed 
packet  deposited  herewith,  in  the  presence  of  the  Pro- 
bate Judge  of  said  County,  at  the  time  of  his  qualifica- 
tion as  executor,  and  immediately  cause  the  same  to 
be  burned  in  the  presence  of  said  Judge,  that  this 
fact  be  entered  ot  record  on  the  minutes  of  said  Probate 
Court,  and  that  the  contents  of  said  packet  be  not 
divulged  to  anyone,  except  to  the  trustees  of  said  fund 
so  far  as  may  be  necessary  to  guide  thern  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  their  trust. 

"  In  testimony  v/hereof,  I  have  hereunto  set  my 
hand  this  18th  day  of  July,  a.  d.,  1861,  in  the  presence 
of  Thomas  Horton  and  Frederick  Wilson,  who  have 
signed  as  witnesses  thereof  at  my  request,  in  my  pres- 
ence, and  in  the  presence  of  each  other. 

"  BOAZ    WOODLEY." 


^20  fIGS  AXD    THISTLES. 

Then  follo^ved  the  codicil  which  has  ah-eady  been 
recited,  and  which  was  proven  by  the  witnesses  thereto. 

There  being  no  contest,  the  executor  was  qualified. 
A  considerable  crowd  gathered  to  hear  the  will  read, 
and  to  witness  the  contest  which  had  been  predicted. 
Mr.  Latham  was  not  present,  nor  his  client.  One  or 
two  lawyers  who  had  dropped  in  looked  over  the  will 
carefully  after  it  was  read,  but  made  no  objection  to  it. 
That  such  remarkable  provisions  should  excite  curiosity 
and  comment  was  very  natural.  So  when  Frank  Hor- 
ton  withdrew  into  the  inner  apartment  of  the  office,  to 
read  the  sealed  packet  which  his  father,  with  much 
formality,  surrendered  to  him  after  his  qualification,  the 
crowd  of  idlers  gathered  around  the  old  man  and  in- 
duced him  to  tell  what  he  knew  of  this  remarkable  will 
— a  narrative  whicli  he  prolonged  by  adulatory  com- 
ment of  its  author,  the  hero  whom  the  gentle  old 
cashier  had  worshiped  for  so  many  years.  He  w^as 
the  President  of  the  bank  now,  but  he  never  thought 
of  himself  as  the  successor  of  the  great  man  whom  he 
had  followed  in  everything,  and  had  never  ceased  to 
be  as  subservient  to  his  Avill  while  alive  as  he  was 
faithful  to  his  memory  when  dead. 

"He  was  a  hard  man  to  try  to  cheat  or  outwit  in 
any  manner,"  said  the  old  cashier,  "  and  as  long  as  a 
man  could  stand  up  and  fight,  I  don't  believe  any  ore 
ever  delighted  more  in  knocking  him  down  than  Mr. 
Woodley.  But  when  a  man  was  down,  and  he  got  a 
notion  that  he  wanted  help,  and  deserved  it,  he  had 
the  best  tact  of  helping  that  I  ever  met  with." 

"Yes,  he  v/as  mighty  slill  about  it,"  continued  Hor- 


IN    THE   SHADE    OF    THE    CYPRESS.  521 

ton,  in  reply  to  a  remark  by  a  bystander.  "He  seemed 
to  be  rather  ashamed  to  have  anyone  know  he  did 
that  sort  of  thing.  I've  known  him  many  a  time  as  a 
lawyer  to  close  a  mortgage  for  a  client,  and  then  let 
the  man  who  had  been  sold  out  have  money  to  redeem 
on  easier  terms  than  the  original  debt;  of  course  he 
took  good  security.  And  another  thing;  he  had  no  sort 
of  pity  for  a  man  who  did  not  //')•.  In  fact,  I  don't 
think  he  had  any  pity.  He  had  only  admiration  for 
pluck.  If  a  man  wanted  to  get  on,  and  was  willing  to 
work,  he  couldn't  keep  from  helping  him.  On  the  whole, 
I  think  he  did  more  good  with  less  fuss,  and  got  less 
credit  for  it  than  any  mc-.i  who  ever  lived  among  us." 

"  But  why,"  asked  one,  ''  did  he  leave  all  his  prop- 
erty to  the  heirs  of  this   man   Hatch  .^" 

"Well,  really,"  said  the  old  man,  with  an  amused 
smile,  "I  don't  know.  Mr.  Woodlcy  was  a  man  that 
always  had  sufficient  reason  for  everything  he  did.  That 
is,  I  take  it  he  had,  though  I  never  knew  a  man  who 
was  brave  enough  to  ask  him  for  one." 

Just  then  Frank  Horton  and  the  Probate  Judge  re- 
turned. The  executor  had  a  look  of  quiet  solemnity 
upon  his  face,  while  the  official's  bore  an  expression  of 
puzzled  indecision. 

Walking  to  the  stove,  which  was  full  of  papers,  hav- 
ing been  used  as  a  convenient  substitute  for  a  waste- 
basket,  Frank  opened  the  door,  and  said  : 

"Now,  Mr.  Probate  Judge,  I  demand,  formally,  in 
the  presence  of  these  witnesses,  that  you  enter  it  upon 
your  minutes,  that,  having  perused  this  parcel,  I  de- 
stroyed  the  same  by  burning  it  in   your  presence,   ac- 


522  -^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

cording  to  the  provisions  of  the  will.  Will  some  one 
let  me  have  a  match  ?" 

Half  a  dozen  were  proffered  by  the  bystanders. 

"  I  call  you  all  to  witness  that  I  now  destroy  the 
packet  that  I  was  required  to  burn,  no  one  else  having 
perused  it." 

Thereupon  he  threw  the  paper  into  the  flames,  and 
stood  by  until  it  was  consumed. 

"I  do  not  approve  of  your  doing  it,"  said  the  Judge, 
"  but  will  make  a  record  of  the  fact." 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

Hetty's  inheritance. 

MARKHAM,  Lizzie,  and  A.my  were  in  the  library 
when  Frank  and  his  father  returned  from  the 
court-house  after  proving  the  will.  The  Doctor  and 
Curtis  Field  came  with  them  (being  in  attendance  as 
witnesses  to  the  codicil)  to  offer  their  congratulations 
to  Markham  and  Lizzie  on  their  good  fortune. 

"Well,"  said  Amy,  poutingly,  to  her  husband,  "I 
suppose  we  weaker  vessels  can  be  allowed  to  know  what 
was  in  the  will,  beyond  the  codicil,  now  that  it  is  public 
property." 

"  I  thought  you  might  wish  to  know,  and  so  brought 
it,  and  will  read  it,  if  agreeable  to  all." 

"Agreeable!"  said  Amy.  "You  know  we  are  just 
dying  to  hear  it.     Pray  do  not  keep  us  in  suspense." 


HETTY'S  IXIIERI'JAXLE.  ^23 

For  reply  Frank  read  the  will. 

"And  where  is  the  parcel  referred  to?"  asked  Amy, 
when  the  reading  was  done. 

"Burned,  as  the  will  directs,"  answered  Frank. 

"But  you  read  it  first  V 

"Of  course." 

"What  was  in   it.?     Tell  us,  that's  a  dear." 

"  Nothing  that  need  be  told,  except  some  directions 
as  to  finding  the  heirs  of  Enoch  Hatch." 

"  What !  must  you  go  rambling  up  and  down  the 
world  after  them  .?" 

"  It  is  so  directed  in  the  will,  dear,  and  I  am  the 
executor." 

"Oh!   that  is  too  bad.     How  long  will  it  take.?" 

"Three  years  is  the  time  limited." 

"Oh,  pshaw!  I  did  not  mean  that.  Hov\' long  do 
you  think  you  will  be  gone  ?  I  wish  you  had  not  ac- 
cepted the  trust.' 

"  Then  I  should  have  missed  the  pleasure  of  putting 
Markham  and  Lizzie  in  possession  of  the  fortune  they 
so  well  deserve." 

"Oh,  well,  just  pay  them  off,  and  never  mind  the 
Massachusetts  folks.  They  may  be  in  California,  or  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  by  this  time." 

"  It  would  not  be  strange  ;  but  I  am  determined  to 
hunt  them  up  if  they  are  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  The 
sealed  package  gave  me  something  of  a  clue." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  may  as  well  shut  up  the  house  and 
start  off,  then;  for 'whither  thou  goest  I  will  go.'  Til 
have  you  understand,  sir,  that  I  waited  too  long  for  my 
husband  to  give  him  an  indefinite  leave  of  absence!" 


524  ^^G^  ^^^^^    THISTLES. 

"I  should  not  wonder,"  interrupted  Lizzie,  "if  I 
were  able  to  help  you  in  this  matter,  Frank." 

"Of  coarse  you  can,"  said  Amy.  "How  stupid  of 
us  not  to  know  that  you  were  a  perfect  witch  at  dis- 
covering hidden  treasures!" 

"  It  is  not  treasures  we  want  this  time,  but  people 
to  claim  them — heirs-at-law,"  said  Frank. 

"No  matter  —  no  matter/'  persisted  Amy.  "She 
knows — I  am  sure  of  it.     Don't  you,  Lizzie  ?" 

"  I  certainly  do  think  that  I  know  who  is  the  sole 
remaining  heir  of  the  Enoch  Hatch  mentioned  in  the 
will,"  said  Lizzie.     Everybody  started  in  surprise. 

"  There^  there!"  laughed  Amy,  catching  her  hus- 
band's hand  as  he  started  towards  Lizzie.  "Don't 
break  the  spell!  She  is  a  witch.  I  told  you  so;  but 
you  must  not  have  her  burned  until  she  has  told  you 
where  to  find  the  heir.  I  suppose  you  happen  to  know 
that,  too,  good  Mother  Witch  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Lizzie,  laughing  back  at  the  spark- 
ling young  matron.  "I  think  I  can  go  as  far  as  th-^t, 
and  tell  your  husband  where  the  heir  may  be  found. 
Just  to  satisfy  your  jealous  fear  of  your  new  toy,"  she 
added,  pinching  her  friend's  cheek. 

"Please,  Lizzie,"  said  Markham,  "do  not  jest.  Do 
you  not  see  how  much  in  earnest  Frank  is  V 

"  Not  more  so  than   I   am,  dear,"  she   replied. 

"Please  tell   us  then,"  said  Frank. 

"  Certainly,"  ansv.'ered  Lizzie.  "  The  heir  of  Enoch 
Hatch   is   in    tliis   room  !" 

"  In  this  room  !"  cried  everyone,  with  a  start.  "  In 
this  room  !     Who  can  it  be.?" 


HETTY'S  INHERITANCE.  525 

"  Please,  madam,"  said  Curtis  Field,  with  mock 
solemnity,  "if  you  are  going  to  name  me,  just  give  me 
a  wink,  so  I  can  be  prepared  to  receive  the  announce- 
ment properly.  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  too  much  if  it 
should  come  all  at  once.  It  will  be  just  my  luck.  I 
never  had  a  chance  in  a  raflle  without  winning.  Let's 
see.  What's  the  chances.'  One  to  seven!  Oh!  I'm 
sure  to  win.  Feel  my  pulse,  Doctor.  I  surely  must 
have  had   a  grandmother!" 

Everybody  laughed  at  this  outburst. 

"You  are  certainly  jesting  now,"  said  Markham, 
looking  at  his  v.-ife  with  an  amused  smile. 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  ruefully;  "  I  am  afraid  you  ladies 
are  making  fun  of  me." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not,"  said  Lizzie,  earnestly,  "  In  all 
seriousness,  the  heir  of  Enoch  Hatch  is  in  this  room, 
and  his  name  is  " — there  was  a  moment's  silence,  every- 
one looking  into  his  neighbor's  eyes  with  incredulous 
anxiety,  except  Markham,  who,  lounging  over  the  arm 
of  his  chair,  looked  up  at  his  wife  and  Frank  with  an 
amused  smile — "Markham  Churr!"  said   Lizzie. 

"What!"  cried  Markham,  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
blushing  furiously.     "  You — you — don't — mean —  " 

"Bravo!     Bravo!"  cried  the  Doctor. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she  v/as  a  witch  !"  exclaimed  Amy. 

Curtis  Field  reached  forth  his  hand,  and,  shaking 
Lizzie's,  said,  gravely : 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  madam,  how  obliged  I  am.  I 
don't  think  I  could  have  stood  it.  Not  nigh  as  well  as 
the  General,  anyhow.  Blushes  never  did  show  to  good 
advantage  on  my  face  !" 


526 


FIGS  AND    THISTLE S. 


There  was  an  amused  smile  on  all  faces  at  this,  ex- 
cept Markham's,  who  did  not  seem  to  hear  it,  but  stood 
gazing  at  his   wife  in  mute  astonishment. 

"  It  cannot  be,  Lizzie,"  he  said,  almost  piteously. 

"  But  it  is,  dear.  Your  grandmother,  Cordie  Hatch, 
was  the  only  daughter  of  the  man  named  in  the  will  I" 

"How  do  you  know  that,"  asked  Horton .? 

"  I've  always  heard  that  her  name  was  Cordie,"  said 
Field.  "  In  fact,  I've  heard  the  Deacon  call  her  so,  and 
I'm  pretty  sure  I've  seen  the  name  marked  on  one  thing 
and  another  round  the  house.  I  'spect  you're  right, 
though  I'd   never  have  thought  of  it." 

''  If  you  will  all  be  seated  and  excuse  me  for  a  mo- 
ment," said  Lizzie,  "  I  will  bring  you  proofs,  which,  if  not 
legally  sufficient,  will  still  convince  you  beyond  a  doubt 
of  the  truth  of  my  statement." 

She  left  the  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned 
with  the  litde  tin  trunk  which  had  contained  her  hus- 
band's treasures  when  the  garret  of  his  grandfather's 
house  was  his  city  of  refuge.  They  all  gathered  around 
her  as,  seating  herself  on  an  ottoman  at  her  husband's 
side,  she  laid  the  box  on  his  knee,  and,  opening  it,  took 
out  a  small  red  morocco  pocket-book,  having  a  metallic 
clasp  whose  workmanship  attested  its  age. 

"  You  can  tell   them   what  this  is,   Markham,   better 
than  I,"  she  said,  tenderly. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  taking  it  in  his  hand;  "this  was  my 
mother's,  and  her  mother's  before  her,  I  have  been  told. 
I  can  remember  seeing  my  father  gaze  at  it  fondly  as  it 
lay  before  him  while  he  talked  to  me  of  my  mother. 
I   always  kept  it  in  this  little  trunk,  v/hich  v.-as  a  place 


HETTY'S  INHEIUTANCE.  527 

of  deposit  for  whatever  was  peculiarly  precious  to  me 
after  his  death." 

"And  you,  Mr.  Field,"  said  Lizzie;  "  have  you  ever 
seen  it  before  ?" 

"  That  I  have,"  said  Curtis,  examining  it  attentively. 
"  When  we  found  that  boy's  den  in  the  Deacon's  garret, 
this  little  tin  trunk  was  there,  with  a  brass  padlock  on 
it.  I  was  going  to  take  it  aw^ay,  when  the  Deacon  made 
some  objection ;  but  his  wife  put  in  and  said  they  did 
not  want  any  of  the  critter's  trash  left  around  there,  and 
I  might  take  it  and  welcome.  The  Deacon  gave  in  to 
her  at  once,  though  he  wasn't  apt  to  yield  to  anybody 
else's  notions.  I  took  it  home,  and  found  the  key,  with 
seme  other  trinkets,  in  an  old  leather  purse,  and  opened 
the  box  to  see  if  there  was  anything  in  it  of  value. 
'J'his  pocket-book  was  in  it  then — that  is,  I  take  it  to 
be  the  same,  and  if  it  is  it's  got  'Hetty  Andrus  *  writ- 
ten mighty  pretty  along  the  back  of  it,  here  on  the  in- 
side, evidently  by  Markham's  father,  old  Jacob  Churr, 
according  to  what  I  have  seen  of  his  handwritin'  in  the 
town  records." 

Lizzie  opened  the  p>ocket-book  and  found  the  name 
written  as  described.  Then  she  began  her  narrative: 
"  One  day  when  you  were  in  the  army,"  she  said  to  her 
husband,  "  and  I  was  feeling  so  sad  and  lonely  because 
of  your  absence  and  the  danger  you  v.ere  in,  I  took 
out  this  old  trunk  to  look  over  the  little  trinkets  it 
contained.  I  loved  to  do  that  then.  It  seemed  as  if  it 
brought  me  nearer  to  you  to  look  over  these  things 
which  were  the  treasures  of  your  boyhood.  I  was  ex- 
amining   the    pocket-book,    and    wondering    what    your 


528  ^^GS  AND    THISTLES. 

mother  was  like,  asking  and  answering  in  my  fancy- 
ail  the  foolish  questions  which  a  loving  woman  will 
devise  when  she  dreams  of  one  who  is  absent.  Then 
I  looked  at  the  name  written  in  the  back  of  it,  and 
concluded,  as  Mr.  Field  has  said,  that  it  v^^as  written  by 
your  father,  since  it  corresponded  with  the  entries  in  his 
hand  in  the  little  Bible  here.  You  know  I  am  always 
curious  and  observing  about  handwriting.  I  don't  know 
how  it  came  about,  but  I  then  turned  over  the  lappel  of 
one  of  the  little  pockets  in  it,  and  found  some  other 
writing.  Here  it  is:"  She  turned  up  the  lappel,  and  on 
the  white  under  side  v/as  written  :  "  Cordie  Hatch^  from 
J3.  IV."  ''This  led  me  to  look  closer,  and  I  found  that 
this  lappel  covered  a  division  of  the  pocket-book  which 
had  been  carefully  sewed  up.  You  can  see  where  the 
stitches  were.  I  rij)ped  it  open,,  and  found  in  it  a  letter 
to  'Cordie  Hatch,'  signed  '  B.  \V.'"  She  drew  it  forth, 
and  read : 

"To  Miss  Cordie  Hatch: — Of  course  you  will  for- 
get me  after  what  has  happened.  It  cannot  be  other- 
wise. Yet  I  could  not  go  out  of  your  world  v/ithout 
one  word  of  farewell  and  explanation.  I  do  not  mean 
to  excuse  myself.  I  am  bad  enough,  God  knows,  but 
not  as  bad  as  I  am  charged  v/ith  being.  1  have  done 
v/rong — much  of  it — but  of  that  which  I  am  accused, 
I  know  nothing  !  nothing — as  Heaven  is  my  v.'itness ! 
Farewell!  I  shall  never  come  into  your  world  again. 
I  shall  go  to  tlie  ends  of  the  earth  and  be  forgotten — 
though  I  cannot  forget.     Your  unworthy,         B.  W." 

''So,  I  thought,  Master  Markham,  your  grandmother, 
the  gentle  Cordie  Hatch,  had  a  lover  before  she  gave 


HETTY'S  IXHERITAXCE.  529 

her  hand  to  Deacon  Andrus,  and  that  lover  evidently 
had  her  heart   in   his   keeping,  or   she  would   not  have 
kept  his  farewell  letter  so  carefully.     Oh,  I  wove  quite  a 
romance  out  of  this   brown  sheet   and   the   faded   lines 
traced   upon   it.     Quite   a   romance   about   your  grand- 
mother,  my   dear.     There    seemed   then    something   fa- 
miliar about  the  handwriting,  but   I  could   not   decide 
just  where  I  had  seen  it.     So  I  put  the  letter  back,  and 
laid    the    pocket-book    away  with    your    other   childish 
treasures,  having  been  much  comforted  with  my  waking 
dream  of  my  husband's  boyhood  and  his  grandmother's 
sweetheart.     I  had  always  been  apprehensive,  as  some 
of  you    may    know,"   continued   Lizzie,    turning  to   her 
other    Usteners,    '•  with    regard    to    Markham's    relations 
with  Boaz  Woodley.     I  was  afraid  he  might  get  in  the 
strong   man's    power,   and   then   Mr.  Woodley's   designs 
might  clash  with  Markham's  sense  of  independence  or 
duty.     It  was  hard  to  suspect  one  so  kind  and  devoted 
in   his   friendship,   but  he   was   so   strong  and    so    bent 
on   the    accomplishment    of  his   great    projects  that   he 
would    not    hesitate,   I   feared,   to  become   as  bitter  an 
enemy   as   he   had    been    faithful   friend.     Not   that  his 
attachment  to  us  was  not  earnest  and  genuine,  but  he 
had  never  known  such  a  thing  as  opposition   from  any 
except  those  he  counted  enemies,  until  the  two  terms  had 
become  interchangeable  in  his  mind.     Whoever  opposed 
him,  I  was  certain  he  v/ould  hate  with  all  the  power  of 
his  wonderfully  strong  nature.     I    had    before    become 
satisfied   that  there  was  a  secret  of  some   discreditable 
character  connected  with  Mr.  Woodley's  early  life,  but 
could   form  no  idea  of  its  specific   nature.     When  the 


530 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES. 


matter  of  the  Trans-Continental  Railroad  came  up,  I 
foresaw  that  it  might  become  the  occasion  of  the  con- 
flict which  I  dreaded  between  my  husband  and  a  friend 
who  had  become  almost  as  dear  to  us  as  if  he  had  been 
a  father.  He  had  made  our  house  his  home  ever  since 
the  v»'ar,  and  I  was  generally  considered  at  the  capital 
as  his  daughter  by  adoption.  His  purse  and  his  heart 
seemed  ever  open  to  us,  as  they  had  never  been  to  any 
o*:hers. 

"  I  tried  to  induce  Markham  not  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  this  railroad  matter.  I  could  not  tell  him 
my  fears,  and  his  trust  in  Colonel  Vvoodley  was  so  im- 
plicit that  he  was  bHnd  to  all  danger.  Indeed,  he  was 
so  absorbed  in  his  legislation  that  he  had  no  time  to 
attend  to  his  own  interests.  I  was  very  much  troubled 
about  it,  for  I  knew  that  Colonel  Woodley  had  been 
carried  away  by  the  vastness  of  the  scheme  and  the 
seductions  of  success  to  assent  to  what  he  would  not 
otherwise  have  approved,  because  he  ceased  to  talk  with 
me  about  it.  From  the  very  moment  that  the  amend- 
ment of  the  charter  and  the  organization  of  the  Con- 
struction Syndicate  was  decided  upon,  he  never  spoke 
to  me  of  his  pet  scheme.  He  had  been  full  of  it  before, 
and  I  had  been  his  confidant  and  private  secretary. 
I  knew  then  that  they  were  contemplating  some  wrong 
which  I  did  not  believe  Markham  would  approve,  come 
vrhat  might. 

"  While  I  was  thus  troubled,  it  flashed  upon  my  mind 
that  this  letter  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Boaz  Woodley. 
I  at  once  came  home  from  Washington,  in  spite  of  Mark- 
ham's   entreaty,   to   make   sure  of  my   surmise.     There 


HETTY'S  INHERITANCE.  531 

could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  The  peculiarities  of  his 
handwriting  were  all  there — younger,  less  experienced, 
but  still  the  same.     No  other  could  have  written  it." 

The  cashier  had  taken  out  his  spectacles  and  care- 
fully adjusted  them  during  her  last  sentences. 

"Will  you  let  me  see  that  letter.?"  he  asked.  "I 
have  seen  a  good  bit  of  Boaz  Woodley's  writing  in  my 
day — not  as  long  ago  as  this  must  have  been  written, 
of  course,  but  I  doubt  very  much  if  a  scrap  that  ever 
passed  under  his  hand  could  go  through  mine  without 
being  identified. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  after  a  careful  scrutiny,  "  this 
is  imdoubtedly  his — a  little  boyish  and  raw,  but  his, 
nevertheless. 

"And  this,  too,"  said  he,  examining  the  inscription 
in  the  pocket-book.  "  He  must  have  been  in  love  with 
your  grandmother,  Markham." 

"  I  ran  away  to  Massachusetts,"  continued  Lizzie, 
"  without  leave  or  license  from  anyone — Markham  never 
knew  it  till  ihis  minute — to  see  what  more  I  could  learn ; 
for  I  did  not  know  what  arguments  I  might  need  to 
address  to  the  strong,  ruthless  man  to  induce  him  to  let 
go  the  hold  Markham  might  have  given  him  upon  his 
reputation." 

"And  what  did  you  learn  there.?"  asked  Frank, 
anxiously. 

Lizzie  cast  a  quick  glance   at   him,  and   answered  : 

"  I  found  that  Cordie  Hatch  was  the  orphaned 
daughter  of  Enoch  Hatch,  who  had  lived  with  her 
bachelor  uncle,  Norman  Hatch,  several  years  prior  to 
his  death ;   and  that   Norman  Hatch  had   adopted  the 


^32  ^JGS  AND    THISTLES. 

writer  of  this  letter  in  his  childhood,  had  afterward 
made  him  his  confidential  clerk,  and  it  was  expected 
would  also  make  him  his  heir,  or  at  least  an  equal  heir 
with  the  niece,  Cordie,  of  whom  he  Avas  the  open  and 
accepted  lover, 

"  It  seems  his  life  was  not  all  that  it  should  have 
been,  and,  on  account  of  som.e  irregularities,  he  left 
there  suddenly,  and  was  not  heard  from  afterward. 

"  I  obtained  a  full  description  of  him  from  two  or 
three  old  people,  who  remembered  him  very  distinctly, 
and  even  secured  the  books  of  Norman  Hatch,  which 
were  in  his  handwriting.  Mr.  Hatch  died  about  the 
time  he  disappeared,  and,  a  few  months  afterwards, 
Cordie  married  Deacon  Andrus." 

"  She  could  not  have  thought  much  of  her  old 
lover  !"  said  Amy,  indignantly. 

"She  had  no  hope  of  his  return,"  said  Lizzie,  with 
some  confusion. 

"And  did  Colonel  Woodley  know  of  your  knowledge 
of  these  facts  .^"  asked  Frank. 

"Yes,"  answered  Lizzie.  "Soon  after  my  return 
occurred  the  crisis  which  I  feared.  Mr.  Woodley 's  love 
of  power  and  success  came  in  conflict. with  Markham's 
sense  of  duty  and  manly  independence.  As  I  feared, 
Colonel  Woodley  could  not  forgive  him  for  refusing  to 
accede  to  his  wishes,  and  threatened  to  ruin  him  if  he 
persisted — which  he  thought  himself  quite  able  to  do 
by  reason  of  the  confidence  Markham  had  reposed  in 
him  in  regard  to  the  investment  of  his  surplus  funds." 

"And  was  it  that  which  caused  his  anger  towards 
your  husband  .-*"  asked  Frank. 


HETTY'S  IXHERITANCE.  z^t^t^ 

"1  think  he  forgave  him  the  day  he  learned  it," 
answered   Lizzie,  evasively. 

''But  what  surprises  me,"  said  the  cashier,  "is  that 
he  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  his  old  sweetheart, 
and  that  they  had  never  heard  from  him  after  he  left. 
Boaz  Woodley  was  not  a  man  to  forget  one  whom  l^e 
loved  or  hated,  and  his  name  has  not  been  an  unknown 
one  for  many  years." 

"  My  friends,"  said  Lizzie,  with  much  agitation,  "  I 
had  hoped  to  conceal  the  whole  truth  from  everybody, 
for  the  sake  of  this  man,  who  v/as  so  kind  to  us— Mark- 
ham  and  me  ;  but  I  see  that  I  have  told  so  much  that 
I  must  tell  more.  I  know  you  will  keep  it  secret,  as  I 
have  done  hitherto.  The  name  'Boaz  Woodley'  has 
been  for  many  years  borne  by  a  man  whose  name  in 
youth,  and  when  he  lived  with  Norman  Hatch,  was 
Basil  Woodson.  He  went  aw^ay  because  he  had  pur- 
loined his  employer's  money  to  play  at  cards  with,  had 
quarreled  with  him,  was  accused  of  his  murder,  and 
indicted  for  it — though  of  this  crime  he  was  innocent. 
It  was  afterwards  confessed   by  another." 

"And  you  told  Boaz  Woodley  you  had  discovered 
these  things?"   asked  Markham. 

"  I  did,"  was  the  low  reply,  as  her  head  sank  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"You  are  a  brave  woman,"  said  the  Doctor,  warmly. 

"That  is  what  he  said,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"Yes,"  said  Field;  "I  shouldn't  have  bid  high  for 
that  job  myself." 

"  If  the  name  of  one  you  loved  was  at  stake  you 
would  not  have  shrunk,  I  am  sure,"  answered  Lizzie. 


^34  ^^<^'^  ^^'^    THISTLES. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Field,  dubiously. 

"  I  suppose  Inat's  the  very  reason  he  was  so  fond 
of  you,"  said  Amy. 

"  Ee  always  did  like  pluck,  of  all  things,"  said  the 
cashier. 

"  He  knew  that  I  loved  and  pitied  him,  in  spite  of 
all,"  said  Lizzie. 

"This  explains,"  said  the  cashier,  thoughtfully  "  the 
secret  of  this  strange  wiil.  He  knev>'  that  Cordie  Hatch 
was  the  only  direct  hei"  of  her  father,  and  the  intended 
heir  of  her  uncle.  He  had  not  only  wronged  her  as  a 
lover,  but  had  taken  away  her  inheritance.  He  desired 
to  make  restitution." 

"May  it  not  also  explain,"  said  the  Doctor,  "the 
violent  fancy  which  he  took  to  the  General  v/nen  they 
first  met  }  I  think  I  have  understood  that  he  took  a 
sudden  and  altogether  unusual  liking  to  him  the  very 
day  of  their  first  meeting  V 

"  He  was  always  my  friend  afterwards,"  answered 
Markham. 

"  Whether  you  inherited  the  attributes  and  charac- 
teristics which  attracted  this  strong  nature  from  his  first 
and  probably  only  love,  is  a  very  interesting,  even  if 
quite  insoluble,  inquiry,"  said  the  Doctor,  thoughtfully. 

"  Wal,  General,"  said  Field,  "  I  must  be  goin'  now. 
You  know  it's  a  smart  step  to  the  old  place  in  Green- 
field, and  I  must  be  there  before  milkin'  time,  'cause  the 
old  lady's  gettin'  kind  of  stuck-up  of  late  years,  and 
don't  look  after  things  when  Fm  gone  nigh  as  well  as 
she  used  to.  I  s'pose  she  thinks  there  ain't  so  much 
need  on't,  which  is  true ;  but  the  boys  is  comin'  on,  and 


HETTY'S  INHERITANCE.  53^ 

I  like  to  see  that  they  do  things  right  and  in  season.'* 

''  I  congratulate  ye  on  your  good  luck — both  on 
ye,"  he  continued,  giving  a  hand  to  each.  "Seein'  it 
couldn't  be  my  grandmother  that  was  Woodley's  sweet- 
heart, I'm  glad  it  was  yours.  If  you  and  your  wife  ain't 
both  akin  to  Boaz  Woodley,  you  ought  to  be.  That's 
my  jedgment.  Though  I  don't  think  it's  fair  for  you  to 
inherit  two  fortunes  in  one  day,  General,  Avhile  you've 
got  such  a  wife  to  help  you  out  of  scrapes." 

"Nor  do  I,"  said  Markham,  seriously.  "And  if,  as 
seems  probable,  I  should  receive  the  half  of  this  estate  as 
the  heir  of  Enoch  Hatch,  I  propose,  Avith  the  consent  of 
my  wife,  to  devote  it  to  the  purpose  indicated  in  the 
will  in  default  of  heirs  being  found." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  your  heirship,"  said 
Frank  Horton.  "  The  sealed  packet  contained  a  state- 
ment that  Cordie  Hatch  was  the  sole  heir  of  Enoch 
Hatch;  that  my  testator  was  adopted  by  Norman,  the 
brother  of  Enoch,  and  that  his  true  name  was  Basil 
Woodson.  I  shall  therefore  decline  to  take  from  your 
hands  the  estate  unless  it  be  necessary  to  prevent  diffi- 
culty between  the  legatees  in  its  division." 

"  But  I  shall  need  your  help,  Frank,  in  administering 
one-half  of  it  for  the  benefit  of  those  remoter  heirs  for 
whom  it  was  designed." 

"I  understand,  after  what  we  have  heard,"  said 
Frank,  solemnly,  "why  I  was  selected  by  Colonel  Wood- 
ley  to  be  his  executor.  He  thought  ine  especially  fitted 
to  deal  with  those  shattered  natures  he  desired  to 
amend.  I  see  that  there  is  a  great  field  here,  to  which 
if  almost  seems  as  if  his  dying  lips  had  called  me.     I 


536 


FIGS  AND    THISTLES, 


shall  be  glad  to  aid  you,  Markbam,  in  your  noble  pur- 
pose." The  two  men,  their  eyes  brimming  over,  clasped 
each  other's  hands  as  he  ceased  speaking. 

The  impulsive  Amy,  looking  up  at  Lizzie,  and  smiling 
through  her  tears,  said  naively:  "Don't  you  think  we 
ought  to  say:  'It  is  good  for  us  to  be  here?'"  And  a 
kiss  on  the  forehead  was   the  only  reply. 

"  One  would  think  we  were  all  legatees,"  said  Field, 
looking  around  quizzically  on  the  tearful  group  and 
wiping  his  own  eyes. 

"And  so,"  said  Markham,  "I  think  we  are,  to  this 
extent,  at  least,  that  we  jointly  are  given  the  secret 
which  fretted  his  soul  for  fifty  years,  and  for  his  sake 
should  keep  it  sacredly." 

"You  have  enforced  that  duty  by  example,"  said 
the  Doctor. 

Frank  Horton  closed  his  executorship,  having  ful- 
filled all  the  instructions  of  the  will,  and  Lanesville 
speculated  for  nine  days  upon  the  remarkable  co- 
incidesnce  which  made  Markham  Churr  and  his  wife 
the  joint  heirs  of  the  estate  of  Boaz  Woodley.  Never 
were  the  provisions  of  a  will  more  cordially  en- 
dorsed by  all.  There  seemed  to  be  a  feeling  that 
Markham  Churr  had  been  hardly  dealt  with,  and 
an  inclination  to  rejoice  in  his  gcod  fortune  pre- 
vailed in  consequence.  When  the  election  came  on,  he 
was  chosen  by  the  largest  majority  ever  cast  for  a  can- 
didate even  in  the  ;;th  District,  and  returned  to  his  seat 
only  to  find  that  his  old  enemy,  the  Construction  Syndi- 
cate, had  in  the  interim  been  killed  by  its  own  "  bulls  ** 
and  "bears." 


CHAPTER  LX. 

REVERSIONARY    LEGATEES. 

AS  months  went  by,  the  determination  which  Mark- 
ham  Churr  had  expressed,  to  devote  his  portion  of 
the  estate  of  Boaz  Woodley  to  the  purpose  for  which 
the  testator  had  designed  it,  gathered  force,  and  ere  long 
assumed  form.  By  an  act  of  the  Legislature,  an  asso- 
ciation was  incorporated,  having  for  its  objfect  the  re- 
lief, aid,  and  reformation  of  the  victims  of  crime.  One- 
half  the  fortune  of  Boaz  Woodley,  supplemented  by  a 
moiety  of  the  proceeds  of  the  oil  territory  which  Frank 
Horton  had  bought,  constituted  the  fund  with  which  it 
was  at  first  endowed.  Good  men  and  women  added  their 
names  to  its  list  of  members,  till  in  almost  every  city  is 
found  its  representative;  and  its  silent  work  of  volun- 
tary beneficence  is  felt  in  many  a  restored  home.  Of 
the  work  of  this  association,  Frank  Horton  is  the  hand 
and  heart.  Not  by  public  assembly,  nor  in  the  light  of 
stained  windows,  with  the  clangor  of  the  organ  or  the 
voice  of  singing  men  and  singing  women,  does  he  pro- 
claim the  Master's  message  of  love ;  but  to  the  sullen 
darkness  of  shattered  lives  he  brings  the  legacy  of  one 
whose  evil  was  overruled  for  good,  the  light  of  a  charity 
which  "  thinketh  no  evil,"  but  "  suffereth  long,  afid  is 
kind''  Silently  as  the  dew  of  heaven,  guided  by  the 
watchful  eyes  and  tender  hearts  of  faithful  co-workers, 

537 


538  I^IGS  AND    THISTLES. 

he  brings  aid  and  cheer  which  helps  the  repentant  soul 
to  hide  the  past  and  tread  its  noxious  weeds  under  the 
heel  of  earnest  purpose,  while  he  reaches  forth  a  skillful 
hand  to  nurture  the  fruit  of  right  living  which  a  hopeful 
future  offers.  The  seal  of  this  noble  charity  is  an  em- 
bossed medallion,  enclosing  the  counterfeit  presentment 
of  Boaz  Woodley's  strong  head  and  sturdy  shoulders, 
enwreathed  w4th  the  words  :  "  As  a  man  thinketh  in  his 
heart,  so  is  he." 

Maft  may  not  gather  figs  of  thistles,  but  of  the 
thorniest  life  the  Master's  hand  may  garner  grapes  of 
sweetest  flavor. 

The  End. 


Trade  Publications 


Fords,    Howard,   &    Hulbert, 

No.  27  Park  Place,  New   York. 


SEPT.  1st,  1879. 


B 


OGARDUS,  ADAM   H. 


FIELD,  COVER,  AND    TRAP   SHOOTING.     With  Steel 
Portrait  and  an  Engraving  of  the  Champion  Medal.     Edited 
by  Chas.  J.  Foster,  Editor  of  The  New  York  Stortsjiian,  and 
of  Hiram  Woodruff's  "Trotting  Horse  of  America."    A  com- 
pendium  of  twenty-five  years    of  experience   as  a  practical 
sportsman,  giving  hints  for  skilled  marksmen,  instructions  for 
young  beginners,  describing  the  haunts  and  habits  of  game- 
birds,  flight  and  resorts  of  water-fowl,  the  use  of  guns,  training 
of  dogs,  and  portraying  many' of  the  author's   own  hunting 
adventures  in  graphic  style,      i  vol.      i2mo.      $2. 
"  We  have  been  struck  with  the  clearness  and  precision  with  which  the  princi- 
ples upon  which  good  shooting  depends  are  laid  down,  r.nd  the  thorough  knowl- 
edge the  author  manifests  in  regard  to  the  haunts,  the  habits,  and  the  instincts  of 
the  various  species  of  game  at  parti,  ular  seasons  ot  the  year.     No  sportsman  can 
peruse  this  book  without  profit  and  instruction  ;  while  to  the  young  beginner  with 
the  gun,  and  to  the  amateur  who  can  spend  but  a  few  weeks  in  the  year  for  this 
healthful  and  delightful  pursuit,  it  will  be  invaluable."— ^//>?V  0/  tJie  Times. 

"Captain   Bogardus  is  undoubtedly  the  best  authority  in  the  world  on  all  the 
topics  of  which  he  treats." — Forest  and  Stream. 

"Likely,   for  many   years  to  come,  to  be  the  standard  authority."— C///crt^<? 
Inter-Occdn. 

DAVIS,  Mrs.  S.  M. 
LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.     A  Me- 
morial  of  one   whose   name   is   a  Synonym  for  every  Manly 
Virtue.      Illustrated  with  3  Steel  Plates  :   Portrait  of  Sidney  ; 
View  of  Penshurst  Castle  ;  Fac-Simile  of  Sidney's  Manuscript. 
Stamped  in  ink  and  gold,  with  Sidney's  Coat  of  Arms.    i2mo. 
Cloth,  beveled,  $1.50. 
*' There  are  few  more  .ittr  ictive   figures  in   the   glorious  company  of  English 
heroes  than  Sidney,  the  soldier,  courtier,  scholar— the  accepted  type  of  an  English 
gentleman     .     ._    .     yet,   except    in    encyclopedias   and    kindred"  works,  there  is 
sra.ccly  any  satisfactory'  memoir  of  him  acce-sible  to  the  general  reader,  and  the 
author  of  this  book  has  done  a  good  service  in  presenting  a  clear  and  well-written 
n a rra  t  i v e . "  — Pk  ila  delph  ia  In g  .v  I'rer. 

"A  book  well  deserving  the  beautiful  printing  and  binding  into  which  the  "Fords 
have  pdt  it." — N.V.  Evening  Mail. 
"  Worthy  of  place  as  an  English  QXzssxc^^ —Pittsburgh  Commercial. 


C;^*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  mailed.,  post-paid.,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  Fords,  Howard,  Cj'  Hulbert. 


Fords,  Howard,  &  Hulbert — Trade  Books. 


GOODWIN.  Rev.  T.  A. 
THE    MODE    OF    MAN'S    IMMORTALITY;     or,    The 
When,  Where,  and  How  of  the  Future  Life.     By  the  Author 
of  "  The  Perfect  Man."    {Third  edition^    i2mo.    Cloth,  $i.oo. 

"  It  is  the  product  of  his  brain,  for  it  is  a  book  with  an  idea." — Dover  Morning 
Star. 

'*  The  fact  that  this  little  treatise  has  reached  a  second  edition  is  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  it  finds  appreciation  among  those  who  derive  pleasure  in  speculation 
concerning  the  future  existence." — Boston  Post. 

V  Combats  with  energy  and  freshness  of  thought  the  idea  of  a  resurrection  of  the 
material  body  that  is  laid  in  the  grave.  ...  A  good  book  to  arouse  men  to 
read  the  scriptures  afresh,  and  to  think." — Christian  Union. 

".  The  book  is  far  from  being  a  common-place  one.  Its  ideas  are  fresh,  and  their 
expression  uniformly  vigorous.  .  .  .  There  are  but  few  who  will  go  to  sleep 
ovei  it,  and  if  some  are  disturbed  by  its  rough  handling  of  beliefs  long  cherished, 
others  will  be  cheered  by  its  manly  avowals  of  the  essentials  of  the  Gospel." — 
Congrega  t  iona  list. 

RAYMOND,  ROSSITER  W. 
BRAVE  HriARTS.     An  American  Novel.     Illustrations  by 
Darley,  vStephens,  Beard,  and  Kendrick.   i2mo.    Cloth,    $1.00. 
"  A  successful  experiment.     It  is  a  tale  of  two  regions — alternations  between  the 
quiet  scenes  of  New   England  and  the  rough,  boisterous  and  dangerous  life  of  an 
extempore  Californian." — Philadelphia  Evening  Herald. 

"  A  really  good  American  novel.  .  .  .  The  purpose  of  the  book  is  indicated 
by  its  title.  It  is  a  representation  of  courage^  in  various  forms  of  individual  char- 
acter."— B.,ston  Globe. 

TOWE,  Mrs.  HARRIET  B. 


STO 
M\ 


MY  WIFE   AND    I  :    Or,    Harry   Henderson's    History.     A 
Novel.     Illustrated.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50.    (55,000  sold.) 

"Always  bright,  piquant,  and  entertaining,  with  an  occasional  touch  of  tender- 
ness, strong  because  subtle,  keen  in  sarcasm,  full  of  womanly  logic  directed  against 
unwomanly  tendencies  " — Boston  Jojcrnal. 

*'  A  capital  story,  in  which  fashionable  follies  are  shown  up,  fast  young  ladies 
weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting,  and  the  value  of  true  worth  exhibited." 
Portland  A  rgus. 

WE  AND  OUR  NEIGHBORS:  The  Records  of  an  Unfashionable 
Street.  A  Novel.  (A  Sequel  to  "  My  Wife  and  I.")  Illustrated. 
i2mo.     Cloth,   $1.50.     (45,000  sold.) 

"Written  in  Mrs.  Stowe's  genial,  hearty  style,  with  the  sparkle  of  fun,  wit  and 
humor,  and  the  touches  of  deep  pathos  which  characterize  her  work." — Worcester 
spy. 

"  While  it  is  a  sequel  to  '  My  Wife  and  I,'  it  is  nevertheless  a  complete  story 
in  Itself.  Mrs  Siowe's  style  is  picturesque,  piquant,  with  just  enough  vivacity 
and  vim  to  give  the  romance  edge  ;  and  throughout  there  are  delicious  sketches  of 
scenes,  with  bits  of  dry  humor  peculiar  to  her  writings," — Pittsburgh  (Pa.)  Com'> 
mercial. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  mailed.,  post-paid.,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  Fords,  Howard.  6^  Hulbert. 


r 


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RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


W-' 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
1072 


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